A  Masters 


UNIT.  OF  CALIF.  LIBHARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


A 

Master's  Degree 


By 

Margaret  Hill  McCarter 

Author  of 

'The  Price  of  the  Prairie."  "\  Wall  of  Men. 
"  The  Peace  of  the  Solomon  Valley."  etc. 


Illustrations  in  color  by 
W.  D.  GOLDBECK 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1913 


A 
MASTER'S  DEGREE 

THE  MEETING 

.    .    .    There  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor 

Breed,  nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they 

come  from  the  ends  of  the  earth! 

—  KIPLING 

T  T  happened  by  mere  chance  that  the  Sep- 
-*•  temper  day  on  which  Professor  Vincent 
Burgess,  A.B.,  from  Boston,  first  entered 
Sunrise  College  as  instructor  in  Greek,  was 
the  same  day  on  which  Vic  Burleigh,  over 
grown  country  boy  from  a  Kansas  claim  out 
beyond  the  Walnut  River,  signed  up  with 
the  secretary  of  the  College  Board  and  paid 
the  entrance  fee  for  his  freshman  year.  And 
further,  by  chance,  it  happened  that  the  two 
young  men  had  first  met  at  the  gateway  to 
the  campus,  one  coming  from  the  East  and 
the  other  from  the  West,  and  having  ex 
changed  the  courtesies  of  stranger  greeting, 
they  had  walked,  side  by  side,  up  the  long 

i 


A  Master's  Degree 


avenue  to  the  foot  of  the  slope.  Together, 
they  had  climbed  the  broad  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  the  imposing  doorway  of  Sun 
rise,  with  the  great  letter  S  carved  in  stone 
relief  above  it;  and,  after  pausing  a  mo 
ment  to  take  in  the  matchless  wonder  of  the 
landscape  over  which  old  Sunrise  keeps 
watch,  the  college  portal  had  swung  open, 
and  the  two  had  entered  at  the  same  time. 

Inside  the  doorway  the  Professor  and  the 
country  boy  were  impressed,  though  in  dif 
fering  degrees,  with  the  massive  beauty  of 
the  rotunda  over  which  the  stained  glass  of 
the  dome  hangs  a  halo  of  mellow  radiance. 
Involuntarily  they  lifted  their  eyes  toward 
this  crown  of  light  and  saw  far  above  them, 
wrought  in  dainty  coloring,  the  design  of 
the  great  State  Seal  of  Kansas,  with  its 
inscription 


They  saw  something  more  in  that  upward 
glance.  On  the  stairway  of  the  rotunda, 
Elinor  Wream,  the  niece  of  the  president 
of  Sunrise  College,  was  leaning  over  the 
balustrade,  looking  at  them  with  curious 


The  Meeting  3 

eyes.  Her  smile  of  recognition  as  she  caught 
sight  of  Professor  Burgess,  gave  place  to  an 
expression  of  half-concealed  ridicule,  as  she 
glanced  down  at  Vic  Burleigh,  the  big, 
heavy-boned  young  fellow,  so  grotesquely 
impossible  to  the  harmony  of  the  place. 

As  the  two  men  dropped  their  eyes,  they 
encountered  the  upturned  face  of  a  plainly 
dressed  girl  coming  up  the  stairs  from  the 
basement,  with  a  big  feather  duster  in  her 
hand.  It  was  old  Bond  Saxon's  daughter 
Dennie,  who  was  earning  her  tuition  by 
keeping  the  library  and  offices  in  order.  As 
if  to  even  matters,  it  was  Vic  Burleigh  who 
caught  a  token  of  recognition  now,  while 
the  young  Professor  was  surveyed  with 
fearless  disapproval. 

All  this  took  only  a  moment  of  time. 
Long  afterward  these  two  men  knew  that 
in  that  moment  an  antagonism  was  born 
between  them  that  must  fight  itself  out 
through  the  length  of  days.  But  now,  Dr. 
Lloyd  Fenneben,  Dean  of  Sunrise,  known 
to  students  and  alumni  alike  as  "  Dean  Fun- 
nybone,"  was  grasping  each  man's  hand  with 
a  cordial  grip  and  measuring  each  with  a 
keen  glance  from  oiercing  black  eyes,  as  he 
bade  them  equal  v  elcome. 


CHAPTER  I 

"DEAN  FUNNYBONE" 

Nature  they  say,  doth  dote, 
And  cannot  make  a  man 
Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 
Repeating  us  by  rote: 
For  him  her  Old-World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 

With  stuff  untainted,  shaped  a  hero  new. 

—  LOWELL 

IT)  R-  LLOYD  FENNEBEN,  Dean  of 

*~*  Sunrise  College,  had  migrated  to  the 
Walnut  Valley  with  the  founding  of  the 
school  here.  In  fact,  he  had  brought  the 
college  with  him  when  he  came  hither,  and 
had  set  it,  as  a  light  not  to  be  hidden,  on  the 
crest  of  that  high  ridge  that  runs  east  of  the 
little  town  of  Lagonda  Ledge.  And  the 
town  eagerly  took  the  new  school  to  itself; 
at  once  its  pride  and  profit.  Yea,  the  town 
rises  and  sets  with  Sunrise.  When  the  first 
gleam  of  morning,  hidden  by  the  east  ridge 
from  the  Walnut  Valley,  glints  redly  from 
the  south  windows  of  the  college  dome  in 
the  winter  time,  and  from  the  north  win- 

7 


8  A  Master  s  Degree 

dows  in  the  summer  time,  the  town  bestirs 
itself,  and  the  factory  whistles  blow.  And 
when  the  last  crimson  glory  of  evening  puts 
a  halo  of  flame  about  the  brow  of  Sunrise, 
the  people  know  that  out  beyond  the  Wal 
nut  River  the  day  is  passing,  and  the  pearl- 
gray  mantle  of  twilight  is  deepening  to 
velvety  darkness  on  the  wide,  quiet  prairie 
lands. 

Lagonda  Ledge  was  a  better  place  after 
the  college  settled  permanently  above  it. 
Some  improvident  citizens  took  a  new  hold 
on  life,  while  some  undesirables  who  had 
lived  in  lawless  infamy  skulked  across  the 
Walnut  and  disappeared  in  that  rough  pic 
turesque  region  full  of  uncertainties  that 
lies  behind  the  west  bluffs  of  the  stream. 
All  this,  after  the  college  had  found  an 
abiding  place  on  the  limestone  ridge.  For 
Sunrise  had  been  a  migratory  bird  before 
reaching  the  outskirts  of  Lagonda  Ledge. 
As  a  fulfillment  of  prophecy,  it  had  arisen 
from  the  visions  and  pockets  of  some  Boston 
scholars,  and  it  had  come  to  the  West  and 
was  made  flesh  —  or  stone  —  and  dwelt 
among  men  on  the  outskirts  of  a  booming 
young  Kansas  town. 

Lloyd  Fenneben  was  just  out  of  Harvard 


"Dean  Funnybone 


when  Dr.  Joshua  Wream,  his  step-brother, 
many  years  his  senior,  professor  of  all  the 
dead  languages  ever  left  unburied,  had  put 
a  considerable  fortune  into  his  hands,  and 
into  his  brain  the  dream  of  a  life-work  — 
even  the  building  of  a  great  university  in  the 
West.  For  the  Wreams  were  a  stubborn, 
self-willed,  bookish  breed,  who  held  that 
salvation  of  souls  could  come  only  through 
possession  of  a  college  diploma.  Young 
Fenneben  had  come  to  Kansas  with  all  his 
youth  and4  health  and  money,  with  high 
ideals  and  culture  and  ambition  for  success 
and  dreams  of  honor  —  and,  hidden  deep 
down,  the  memory  of  some  sort  of  love  affair, 
but  that  was  his  own  business.  With  this 
dream  of  a  new  Harvard  on  the  western 
prairies,  he  had  burned  his  bridges  behind 
him,  and  in  an  unbusiness-like  way,  relying 
too  much  upon  a  board  of  trustees  whom  he 
had  interested  in  his  plans  he  had  eagerly 
begun  his  task,  struggling  to  adapt  the  West 
to  his  university  model,  measuring  all  men 
and  means  by  the  scholarly  rule  of  his 
Alma  Mater.  Being  a  young  man,  he 
took  himself  full  seriously,  and  it  was  a 
tremendous  blow  to  his  sense  of  dignity 
when  the  youthful  Jayhawkers  at  the  outset 


io  A  Master's  Degree 

dubbed  him  "Dean  Funnybone" — a  name 
he  was  never  to  lose. 

His  college  flourished  so  amazingly  that 
another  boom  town,  farther  inland,  came 
across  the  prairie  one  day,  and  before  the 
eyes  of  the  young  dean  bought  it  of  the 
money-loving  trustees  —  body  and  soul  and 
dean  —  and  packed  it  off  as  the  Plains  In 
dians  would  carry  off  a  white  captive,  miles 
away  to  the  westward.  Plumped  down  in  a 
big  frame  barracks  in  the  public  square  of 
twenty  acres  in  the  middle  of  this  new  town, 
at  once  real  estate  dealers  advertised  the 
place  as  the  literary  center  of  Kansas; 
while  lots  in  straggling  additions  far  away 
across  the  prairie  draws  were  boomed  as 
"  college  flats  within  walking  distance  of  the 
university." 

In  this  new  setting  Lloyd  Fenneben 
started  again  to  build  up  what  had  been  so 
recklessly  torn  down.  But  it  was  slow  do 
ing,  and  in  a  downcast  hour  the  head  of  the 
board  of  trustees  took  council  with  the 
young  dean. 

"Funnybone,  that's  what  the  boys  call 
you,  ain't  it?"  The  name  had  come  along 
over  the  prairie  with  the  school.  "  Funny- 
bone,  you  are  as  likely  a  man  as  ever  escaped 


"Dean  Funnybone"  1 1 

from  Boston.  But  you're  never  going  to 
build  the  East  into  the  West,  no  more'n  you 
could  ram  the  West  into  the  Atlantic  sea 
board  states.  My  advice  to  you  is  to  get 
yourself  into  the  West  for  good  and  drop 
your  higher  learnin'  notions,  and  be  one  of 
us,  or  beat  it  back  to  where  you  came  from 
quick." 

Dean  Fenneben  listened  as  a  man  who 
hears  the  reading  of  his  own  obituary. 

"  You  Ve  come  out  to  Kansas  with  beauti 
ful  dreams,"  the  bluff  trustee  continued. 
"  Drop  'em!  You're  too  late  for  the  New 
England  pioneers  who  come  West.  They've 
had  their  day  and  passed  on.  The  thing  for 
you  to  do  is  to  commercialize  yourself  right 
away.  Go  to  buyin'  and  sellin'  dirt.  It's 
all  a  man  can  do  for  Kansas  now.  Just  boom 
her  real  estate." 

"All  a  man  can  do  for  Kansas!"  Fenne 
ben  repeated  slowly. 

"  Sure,  and  I  '11  tell  you  something  more. 
This  town  is  busted,  absolutely  busted.  I, 
and  a  few  others,  brought  this  college  here 
as  an  investment  for  ourselves.  It  ain't  paid 
us,  and  we  Ve  throwed  the  thing  over.  I  Ve 
just  closed  a  deal  with  a  New  Jersey  syndi 
cate  that  gets  me  rid  of  every  foot  of  ground 


12  A  Master  s  Degree 

I  own  here.  The  county-seat's  goin'  to  be 
eighteen  miles  south,  and  it  will  be  kingdom 
come,  a'most,  before  the  railroad  extension 
is  any  nearer  'n  that.  Let  your  university 
go,  and  come  with  me.  I  can  make  you  rich 
in  six  months.  In  six  weeks  the  coyotes  will 
be  howlin'  through  your  college  halls,  and 
the  prairie  dogs  layin'  out  a  townsite  on  the 
campus,  and  the  rattlesnakes  coilin'  round 
the  doorsteps.  Will  you  come,  Funny- 
bone?" 

The  trustee  waited  for  an  answer.  While 
he  waited,  the  soul  of  the  young  dean  found 
itself. 

"Funnybone!"  Lloyd  repeated.  "I  guess 
that's  just  what  I  need  —  a  funny  bone  in 
my  anatomy  to  help  me  to  see  the  humor  of 
this  thing.  Go  with  you  and  give  up  my 
college?  Build  up  the  prosperity  of  a  com 
monwealth  by  starving  its  mind!  No,  no; 
I  '11  go  on  with  the  thing  I  came  here  to  do 
—  so  help  me  God! " 

"You'll  soon  go  to  the  devil,  you  and 
your  old  school.  Good-by!"  And  the  trus 
tee  left  him. 

A  month  later,  Dean  Fenneben  sat  alone 
in  his  university  barracks  and  saw  the 
prairie  dogs  making  the  dust  fly  as  they 


"Dean  Funnybone"  13 

digged  about  what  had  been  intended  for  a 
flower  bed  on  the  campus.  Then  he  packed 
up  his  meager  library  and  other  college 
equipments  and  walked  ten  miles  across  the 
plains  to  hire  a  man  with  a  team  to  haul 
them  away.  The  teamster  had  much  ado  to 
drive  his  half-bridle-wise  Indian  ponies 
near  enough  to  the  university  doorway  to 
load  his  wagon.  Before  the  threshold  a  huge 
rattlesnake  lay  coiled,  already  disputing  any 
human  claim  to  this  kingdom  of  the  wild. 

Discouraging  as  all  this  must  have  been 
to  Fenneben,  when  he  started  away  from  the 
deserted  town  he  smiled  joyously  as  a  man 
who  sees  his  road  fair  before  him. 

"  I  might  go  back  to  Cambridge  and  poke 
about  after  the  dead  languages  until  my 
brother  passes  on,  and  then  drop  into  his 
chair  in  the  university,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"but  the  trustee  was  right.  I  can  never 
build  the  East  into  the  West.  But  I  can 
learn  from  the  East  how  to  bring  the  West 
into  its  own  kingdom.  I  can  make  the  dead 
languages  serve  me  the  better  to  speak  the 
living  words  here.  And  if  I  can  do  that,  I 
may  earn  a  Master's  Degree  from  my  Alma 
Mater  without  the  writing  of  a  learned 
thesis  to  clinch  it.  But  whether  I  win  honor 


14  A  Master's  Degree 

or  I  am  forgotten,  this  shall  be  my  life-work 
—  out  on  these  Kansas  prairies,  to  till  a  soil 
that  shall  grow  men  and  women" 

For  the  next  three  years  Dean  Fenneben 
and  his  college  flourished  on  the  borders  of 
a  little  frontier  town,  if  that  can  be  called 
flourishing  which  uses  up  time,  and  money, 
and  energy,  Christian  patience,  and  dogged 
persistence.  Then  an  August  prairie  fire, 
sweeping  up  from  the  southwest,  leaped  the 
narrow  fire-guard  about  the  one  building 
and  burned  up  everything  there,  except 
Dean  Fenneben.  Six  years,  and  nothing  to 
show  for  his  work  on  the  outside.  Inside, 
the  six  years'  stay  in  Kansas  had  seen  the 
making  over  of  a  scholarly  dreamer  into  a 
hard-headed,  far-seeing,  masterful  man, 
who  took  the  West  as  he  found  it,  but  did 
not  leave  it  so.  Not  he!  All  the  power  of 
higher  learning  he  still  held  supreme.  But 
by  days  of  hard  work  in  the  college  halls, 
and  nights  of  meditation  out  in  the  silent 
sanctuary  spaces  of  the  prairies  round  about 
him,  he  had  been  learning  how  to  compute 
the  needs  of  men  as  the  angel  with  the 
golden  reed  computed  the  walls  and  gates 
of  the  New  Jerusalem  —  according  to  the 
measure  of  a  man. 


Dean  Funnybone" 


Such  was  Dean  Fenneben  who  came  after 
six  years  of  service  to  the  little  town  of 
Lagonda  Ledge  to  plant  Sunrise  on  the  crest 
above  the  Walnut  Valley  beyond  reach  of 
prairie  fire  or  bursting  boom.  Firm  set  as 
the  limestone  of  its  foundations,  he  reared 
here  a  college  that  should  live,  for  that  its 
builder  himself  with  his  feet  on  the  ground 
and  his  face  toward  the  light  had  learned 
the  secret  of  living. 

Miles  away  across  the  valley,  the  dome  of 
Sunrise  could  be  seen  by  day.  By  night, 
the  old  college  lantern  at  first,  and  later  the 
studding  of  electric  lights,  made  a  beacon 
for  all  the  open  countryside.  But  if  the 
wayfarer,  by  chance  or  choice,  turned  his 
footsteps  to  those  rocky  bluffs  and  glens  be 
yond  the  Walnut  River,  wherefrom  the  town 
of  Lagonda  Ledge  takes  its  name,  he  lost  the 
guiding  ray  from  the  hilltop  and  groped  in 
black  and  dangerous  ways  where  darkness 
rules. 

Above  the  south  turret  hung  the  Sunrise 
bell,  whose  resonant  voice  filled  the  whole 
valley,  and  what  the  sight  of  Sunrise  failed 
to  do  for  Lagonda  Ledge,  the  sound  of  the 
bell  accomplished.  The  first  class  to  enter 
the  school  nicknamed  its  head  "  Dean  Fun- 


1 6  A  Master 's  Degree 

nybone,"  but  this  gave  him  no  shock  any 
more.  He  had  learned  the  humor  of  life 
now,  the  spirit  of  the  open  land  where  the 
view  is  broad  to  broadening  souls. 

And  it  was  to  the  hand  of  Dean  Fenneben 
that  Professor  Vincent  Burgess,  A.B.,  Greek 
instructor  from  Boston,  and  Vic  Burleigh, 
the  big  country  boy  from  a  claim  beyond 
the  Walnut,  came  on  a  September  day; 
albeit,  the  one  had  his  head  in  the  clouds, 
while  the  other's  feet  were  clogged  with  the 
grass  roots. 


CHAPTER  II 

POTTER'S  CLAY 

This  clay,  well  mixed  with  marl  and  sand, 
Follows  the  motion  of  my  hand, 
For  some  must  follow  and  some  command, 
Though  all  are  made  of  clay. 

—  LONGFELLOW 

HE  afternoon  sunshine  was  flooding  the 
September  landscape  with  molten  gold, 
filling  the  valley  with  intense  heat,  and  rip 
pling  back  in  warm  waves  from  the  crest  of 
the  ridge.  Dean  Fenneben's  study  in  the 
south  tower  of  Sunrise  looked  out  on  the 
new  heaven  and  the  new  earth,  every  day- 
dawn  created  afresh  for  his  eyes;  for  truly, 
the  Walnut  Valley  in  any  mood  needs  only 
eyes  that  see  to  be  called  a  goodly  land.  And 
it  was  because  of  the  magnificent  vista,  un 
folding  in  woodland,  and  winding  river,  and 
fertile  field,  and  far  golden  prairie  —  it  was 
because  of  the  unconscious  power  of  all  this 
upon  the  student  mind,  that  Dr.  Fenneben 
had  set  his  college  up  here. 
On  this  September  afternoon,  the  Dean 

17 


1 8  A  Master's  Degree 

sat  looking  out  on  this  land  of  pure  delight 
a-quiver  in  the  late  summer  sunshine. 
Nature  had  done  well  by  Lloyd  Fenneben. 
His  height  was  commanding,  and  he  was 
slender,  rather  than  heavy,  with  ease  of 
movement  as  if  the  play  of  every  muscle  was 
nerved  to  harmony.  His  heavy  black  hair 
was  worn  a  trifle  long  on  the  upper  part 
of  his  head  and  fell  in  masses  above  his 
forehead.  His  eyes  were  black  and  keen 
under  heavy  black  brows.  Every  feature 
was  strong  and  massive,  but  saved  from 
sternness  by  a  genial  kindliness  and  sense  of 
humor.  Whoever  came  into  his  presence 
felt  that  magnetic  power  only  a  king  of  his 
kind  can  possess. 

Long  the  Dean  sat  gazing  at  the  gleaming 
landscape  and  the  sleepy  town  beyond  the 
campus  and  the  pigeons  circling  gracefully 
above  a  little  cottage,  hidden  by  trees,  up 
the  river. 

"A  wonderful  region!"  he  murmured. 
"If  that  old  white-haired  brother  of  mine 
digging  about  the  roots  of  Greek  and  San 
scrit  back  in  Harvard  could  only  see  all 
this,  maybe  he  might  understand  why  I 
choose  to  stay  here  with  my  college  instead 
of  tying  up  with  a  university  back  East. 


Potter' s  Clay  19 

But,  maybe  not.  We  are  only  step-brothers. 
He  is  old  enough  to  be  my  father,  and  with 
all  his  knowledge  of  books  he  could  never 
read  men.  However,  he  sent  me  West  with 
a  fat  pocketbook  in  the  interest  of  higher 
education.  I  hope  I  Ve  invested  well. 
And  our  magnificent  group  of  buildings  up 
here  and  our  broad-acred  campus,  together 
with  our  splendid  enrollment  of  students 
justify  my  hope.  Strange,  I  have  never 
known  whose  money  I  was  using.  Not 
Joshua  Wream's,  I  know  that.  Money  is 
nothing  to  the  Wreams  except  as  it  endows 
libraries,  builds  colleges,  and  extends  uni 
versities.  Too  scholarly  for  these  prairies, 
all  of  them!  Too  scholarly!" 

The  Dean's  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  tiny  shaft 
of  blue  smoke  rising  steadily  from  the  rough 
country  in  the  valley  beyond  Lagonda 
Ledge,  but  his  mind  was  still  on  his  brother. 

"Dr.  Joshua  Wream,  D.D.,  Litt.D., 
LL.D.,  etc.!  He  has  taken  all  the  degrees 
conferable,  except  the  degree  of  human  in 
sight."  Something  behind  the  strong  face 
sent  a  line  of  pathos  into  it  with  the  thought. 
"  He  has  piled  up  enough  for  me  to  look 
after  this  fall,  anyhow.  It  was  bad  enough 
for  that  niece  of  ours  to  be  left  a  penniless 


2O  A  Master's  Degree 

orphan  with  only  the  two  uncles  to  look 
after  her  and  both  of  us  bachelors.  And 
now,  after  he  has  been  shaping  Elinor 
Wream's  life  until  she  is  ready  for  college, 
he  sends  her  out  here  to  me,  frankly  declar 
ing  that  she  is  too  much  for  him.  She 
always  was." 

He  turned  to  a  letter  lying  on  the  table 
beside  him,  a  smile  playing  about  the  frown 
on  his  countenance. 

"  He  hopes  I  can  do  better  by  Elinor  than 
he  has  been  able  to  do,  because  he's  never 
had  a  wife  nor  child  to  teach  him,"  he  con 
tinued,  giving  word  to  his  thought.  "A  fine 
time  for  me  to  begin!  No  wife  nor  child 
has  ever  taught  me  anything.  He  says  she 
is  a  good  girl,  a  beautiful  girl  with  only  two 
great  faults.  Only  two!  She's  lucky. 
'One'"  —  Fenneben  glanced  more  closely 
at  the  letter — "'is  her  self-will.'  I  never 
knew  a  Wream  that  didn't  have  that  fault. 
'And  the  other"  — the  frown  drove  back 
the  smile  now  —  "'is  her  notion  of  wealth. 
Nobody  but  a  rich  man  could  ever  win  her 
hand.'  She  who  has  been  simply  reared, 
with  all  the  Wream  creed  that  higher  edu 
cation  is  the  final  end  of  man,  is  set  with  a 
Wream-like  firmness  in  her  hatred  of  pov- 


Potter's  Clay  21 

erty,  her  eagerness  for  riches  and  luxury. 
And  to  add  to  all  this  responsibility  he  must 
send  me  his  pet  Greek  scholar,  Vincent 
Burgess,  to  try  out  as  a  professor  in  Sunrise. 
A  Burgess,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  to  be 
sent  to  me!  Of  course  this  young  man 
knows  nothing  of  my  affairs  but  is  my 
brother  too  old  and  too  scholarly  to  remem 
ber  what  I  Ve  tried  a  thousand  times  to  for 
get?  I  thought  the  old  wound  had  healed 
by  this  time." 

A  wave  of  sadness  swept  the  strong  man's 
face.  "I've  asked  Burgess  to  come  up  at 
three.  I  must  find  out  what  material  is  sent 
here  for  my  shaping.  It  is  a  president's 
business  to  shape  well,  and  I  must  do  my 
best,  God  help  me!" 

A  shadow  darkened  Lloyd  Fenneben's 
face,  and  his  black  eyes  held  a  strange  light. 
He  stared  vacantly  at  the  landscape  until  he 
suddenly  noted  the  slender  wavering  pillar 
of  smoke  beyond  the  Walnut. 

"There  are  no  houses  in  those  glens  and 
hidden  places,"  he  thought.  "  I  wonder 
what  fire  is  under  that  smoke  on  a  day  like 
this.  It  is  a  far  cry  from  the  top  of  this 
ridge  to  the  bottom  of  that  half-tamed 
region  down  there.  One  may  see  into  three 


22  A  Master's  Degree 

counties  here,  but  it  is  rough  traveling  across 
the  river  by  day,  and  worse  by  night." 

The  bell  above  the  south  turret  chimed 
the  hour  of  three  as  Vincent  Burgess  entered 
the  study. 

"  Take  this  seat  by  the  window,"  Dr.  Fen- 
neben  said  with  a  genial  smile  and  a  hand 
clasp  worth  remembering.  "You  can  see 
an  Empire  from  this  point,  if  you  care  to 
look  out." 

Vincent  Burgess  sat  at  ease  in  any  pres 
ence.  He  had  the  face  of  a  scholar,  and  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman.  But  he  gave  no 
sign  that  he  cared  to  view  the  empire  that 
lay  beyond  the  window. 

"We  are  to  be  co-workers  for  some  time, 
Burgess.  May  I  ask  you  why  you  chose  to 
come  to  Kansas?" 

Fenneben  came  straight  to  the  purpose  of 
the  interview.  This  keen-eyed,  business 
like  man  seemed  to  Burgess  very  unlike  old 
Dr.  Wream,  whom  everybody  at  Harvard 
loved  and  anybody  could  deceive.  But  to 
the  direct  question  he  answered  directly 
and  concisely. 

"  I  came  to  study  types,  to  acquire  geo 
graphical  breadth,  to  have  seclusion,  that 
I  may  pursue  more  profound  research." 


Potter's  Clay  23 

There  was  a  play  of  light  in  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben's  eyes. 

"  You  must  judge  for  yourself  of  the  value 
of  Sunrise  and  Lagonda  Ledge  for  seclu 
sion.  But  we  make  a  specialty  of  geograph 
ical  breadth  out  here.  As  to  types,  they 
assay  fairly  well  to  the  ton,  these  Jayhawk- 
ers  do." 

"What  are  Jayhawkers,  Doctor?"  Bur 
gess  queried. 

"Yonder  is  one  specimen,"  Fenneben  an 
swered,  pointing  toward  the  window. 

Vincent  Burgess,  looking  out,  saw  Vic 
Burleigh  leaping  up  the  broad  steps  from 
the  level  campus,  a  giant  fellow,  fully  six 
feet  tall.  The  swing  of  strength,  void  of 
grace,  was  in  his  motion.  His  face  was 
gypsy-brown  under  a  crop  of  sunburned 
auburn  hair.  A  stiff  new  derby  hat  was  set 
bashfully  on  a  head  set  unabashed  on  broad 
shoulders.  The  store-mark  of  the  ready- 
made  was  on  his  clothing,  and  it  was  clear 
that  he  was  less  accustomed  to  cut  stone 
steps  than  to  springing  prairie  sod.  Clearly 
he  was  a  real  product  of  the  soil. 

"Why,  that  is  the  young  bumpkin  I  came 
in  with  this  morning.  I  thought  I  was 
striding  alongside  an  elephant  in  bulk  and 


24  A  Master's  Degree 

wild  horse  in  speed,"  Burgess  said  with  a 
smile. 

"You  will  have  a  share  in  taming  him, 
doubtless,"  Dr.  Fenneben  replied.  "  He 
looks  hardly  bridle-wise  yet.  Enter  him 
among  your  types.  I  didn't  get  his  name 
this  morning,  but  he  interested  me  at  once, 
as  a  fellow  of  good  blood  if  not  of  good 
manners,  and  I  have  asked  him  to  come  in 
here  later.  Some  boys  must  be  met  on  the 
very  threshold  of  a  college  if  they  are  to 
run  safely  along  the  four  years." 

"  His  name  is  Burleigh,  Victor  Burleigh. 
I  remember  it  because  it  is  not  a  new  name 
to  me.  Picture  him  in  a  cap  and  gown  at 
home  in  a  library,  or  standing  up  to  receive 
a  Master's  Degree  from  a  university!  His 
kind  leave  about  the  middle  of  the  second 
semester  and  revert  to  the  soil,  don't  they?" 

Burgess  laughed  pleasantly,  and  leaned 
forward  to  get  one  more  look  at  the  country 
boy,  disappearing  behind  a  group  of  ever 
greens  in  the  north  angle  of  the  building. 

"They  do  not  always  leave  so  soon  as 
that.  You  can't  tell  the  grade  of  timber 
every  time  by  the  bark  outside."  There  was 
a  deeper  tone  in  Dr.  Fenneben's  voice  now. 
"But  as  to  yourself,  you  had  a  motive  in 


Potter's  Clay  25 

coming  to  Kansas,  I  judge.  You  can  study 
types  anywhere." 

Whether  the  young  man  liked  this  or  not, 
he  answered  evenly: 

"  I  am  to  give  instruction  in  Greek  here 
at  Lagonda  Ledge.  Beastly  name,  isn't  it? 
Suggestive  of  rattlesnakes,  somehow!  I 
shall  spend  much  time  in  study,  for  I  am 
preparing  a  comprehensive  thesis  for  my 
Master's  Degree.  The  very  barrenness  of 
these  dull  prairies  will  keep  me  close  to  my 
library  for  a  couple  of  years." 

"Oh,  you  will  do  your  work  well  any 
where,"  Dr.  Fenneben  declared.  "You 
need  not  put  walls  of  distances  about  you 
for  that.  I  thought  you  might  have  a  more 
definite  purpose  in  choosing  this  state,  of  all 
places." 

Fenneben's  mind  was  running  back  to  the 
days  of  his  own  first  struggle  for  existence 
in  the  West,  and  his  heart  went  out  in  sym 
pathy  to  the  undisciplined  young  professor. 

"  I  have  a  reason,  but  it  is  entirely  a  per 
sonal  matter."  Burgess  was  looking  at  the 
floor  now.  "  Did  you  know  I  had  a  sister 
once?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Dr.  Fenneben  said. 

"  She  was  married  and  came  to  Kansas. 


26  A  Master's  Degree 

That  was  after  you  left  Cambridge,  I 
suppose.  She  and  her  husband  are  both 
dead,  leaving  no  children.  My  father  was 
bitterly  opposed  to  her  coming  out  here,  and 
never  forgave  her  for  it.  He  died  recently, 
making  me  his  heir.  I  Ve  always  thought 
I  'd  like  to  see  the  state  where  my  sister  lived. 
She  died  young.  She  could  not  have  been 
as  old  as  you  are,  and  you  are  a  young  man 
yet,  Doctor.  In  addition,  my  father  left  in 
my  care  some  trust  funds  for  a  claimant  who 
also  lived  in  Kansas.  He  is  dead  now,  but  I 
want  to  find  out  something  more  definite 
concerning  him.  Outside  of  this,  I  hope  to 
do  well  here  and  to  succeed  to  higher 
places  elsewhere,  soon.  All  this  personal 
to  myself,  and  worthy,  I  hope." 

He  looked  at  Fenneben,  who  was  leaning 
forward  with  his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his 
head  bowed.  His  face  was  hidden  and  his 
white  fingers  were  thrust  through  the  heavy 
masses  of  black  hair. 

"  You  will  find  a  great  field  here  in  which 
to  work  out  your  success,"  the  Dean  said  at 
length.  "  But  I  must  give  a  word  of  warn 
ing.  I  tried  once  to  reproduce  the  eastern 
university  here.  I  learned  better.  If  Kan 
sas  is  to  be  your  training  ground,  may  I  say 


Potter's  Clay  27 

that  the  man  who  opens  his  front  door  for 
the  first  time  on  the  green  prairies  of  the 
West  has  no  less  to  learn  than  the  man  who 
first  pitches  his  tent  beside  the  blue  Atlan 
tic?  Don't  say  I  didn't  show  you  where  to 
find  the  blazed  trail  if  you  get  lost  from  it 
for  a  little  while." 

Dr.  Fenneben's  face  was  charming  when 
he  smiled. 

"One  other  thing  I  may  mention.  You 
know  my  niece,  Elinor?  I've  been  out 
here  so  long,  I  may  need  your  help  in  mak 
ing  her  feel  at  home  at  first." 

There  was  a  new  light  in  Burgess's  eyes 
at  the  mention  of  Elinor  Wream's  name. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  Miss  Elinor  very  well. 
I  shall  need  her  more  to  make  me  feel  at 
home  than  she  will  need  me." 

Somehow  the  answer  was  a  trifle  too  quick 
and  smooth  to  ring  right.  Dr.  Fenneben 
forgot  it  in  an  instant,  however,  for  Elinor 
Wream  herself  came  suddenly  into  the 
room,  a  tall,  slender  girl,  with  a  face  so  full 
of  sunshiny  charm  that  no  great  defect  of 
character  had  yet  made  its  mark  there. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Uncle  Lloyd;  I 
thought  you  were  alone.  How  do  you  do, 
Professor  Burgess."  She  came  forward 


28  A  Master's  Degree 

smilingly  and  offered  her  hand.  "  Makes 
me  homesick  for  old  Cambridge  and  Uncle 
Joshua  when  I  see  you.  I  want  to  go  down 
to  Lagonda  Ledge,  and  I  don't  know  the 
streets  at  all.  Don't  you  want  to  show  me 
the  way?" 

"  Can't  you  wait  for  me  to  do  that,  Nor- 
rie?  I  have  only  one  more  engagement  for 
the  afternoon,  and  Miss  Saxon  will  be  want 
ing  to  dust  in  here  soon."  Dr.  Fenneben 
looked  fondly  at  his  niece,  a  man  to  make 
other  men  jealous,  if  occasion  offered. 

"Please  don't,  Miss  Elinor,"  Vincent 
Burgess  urged.  "  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
explore  darkest  Kansas  with  you  at  any 
time." 

"There  is  no  mistaking  that  look  in  a 
man's  eyes,"  Dr.  Fenneben  thought  as  he 
watched  the  two  pass  through  the  rotunda 
and  out  of  the  great  front  door.  "  I  have 
guessed  Joshua's  plan  easily  enough,  but 
I  Ve  only  half  guessed  him  out.  Why  did 
he  mention  his  money  matters  to  me?  There 
is  enough  merit  in  him  worth  the  shaping 
Sunrise  will  give  him,  however,  and  I  must 
do  a  man's  part,  anyhow.  As  for  Elinor, 
there's  a  ready-made  missionary  field  in 
her,  so  Joshua  warns  me.  But  he  is  a  poor 


Potter's   Clay  29 

judge  sometimes.  I  wish  I  might  have 
begun  with  her  sooner.  I  cannot  think  she 
is  quite  as  mercenary  as  he  represents  her 
to  be." 

Through  the  window  he  saw  a  pretty  pic 
ture.  Outlined  against  the  dark  green  cedars 
of  the  north  angle  was  Professor  Burgess, 
tall,  slender,  fair  of  face,  faultless  in  dress. 
Beside  him  was  Elinor  Wream,  all  dainty 
and  sweet  and  white,  from  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat  set  jauntily  on  her  dark  hair 
to  the  white  bows  on  the  instep  of  her  neat 
little  canvas  shoes.  A  wave  of  loneliness 
swept  over  Dr.  Fenneben's  soul  as  he  looked. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  thousand  years  ago 
that  I  was  in  love  and  walked  in  my  Eden. 
There  are  no  serpents  here  as  there  were  in 


mine." 


Just  then  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  wide  stone 
landing  of  the  campus  steps.  At  the  same 
moment  Elinor  gave  a  scream  of  fright.  A 
bull  snake,  big  and  ugly,  had  crawled  half 
out  of  the  burned  grasses  of  the  slope  and 
stretched  itself  lazily  in  the  sunshine  along 
the  warm  stone.  It  roused  itself  at  the 
scream,  emitting  its  hoarse  hiss,  after  the 
manner  of  bull  snakes.  Elinor  clutched  at 
her  companion's  arm,  pale  with  fear. 


30  A  Master's  Degree 

"Kill  it!  Kill  it!"  she  cried,  trying  to 
force  her  slender  white  parasol  into  his 
hand. 

Before  he  could  move,  Vic  Burleigh 
leaped  out  from  behind  the  cedars,  and, 
picking  up  a  sharp-edged  bit  of  limestone, 
tipped  his  hand  dexterously  and  sent  it  clean 
as  a  knife  cut  across  the  space.  It  struck 
the  snake  just  below  the  head,  half  severing 
it  from  the  body.  Another  leap  and  Bur 
leigh  had  kicked  the  whole  writhing  mass  — 
it  would  have  measured  five  feet — off  the 
stone  into  the  sunflower  stalks  and  long 
grasses  of  the  steep  slope. 

"  How  did  you  ever  dare?"  Elinor  asked. 

"Oh,  he's  not  poison;  he  just  doesn't  be 
long  up  here." 

The  bluntness  of  timidity  was  in  Vic's 
answer,  but  the  strength  and  musical  depth 
of  his  resonant  voice  was  almost  startling. 

"There  is  no  Eden  without  a  serpent, 
Miss  Elinor,"  Professor  Burgess  said  lightly. 

"  Nor  a  serpent  without  some  sort  of  Eden 
built  around  it.  The  thing's  mate  will  be 
along  after  it  pretty  soon.  Look  out  for  it 
down  there.  The  best  place  to  catch  it  is 
right  behind  its  ears,"  came  the  boy's  quick 
response. 


Potter's  Clay  31 

Burleigh  looked  back  defiantly  at  Bur 
gess  as  he  disappeared  indoors.  And  the 
antagonism  born  in  the  meeting  of  these  two 
men  in  the  morning  took  on  a  tiny  degree  of 
strength  in  the  afternoon. 

"What  a  wonderful  voice,  Vincent.  It 
makes  one  want  to  hear  it  again,"  Elinor 
exclaimed. 

"Yes,  and  what  an  overgrown  pile  of 
awkwardness.  It  makes  one  hope  never  to 
see  it  again,"  her  companion  responded. 

"  But  he  killed  that  snake  in  a  way  that 
looked  expert  to  me,"  Elinor  insisted. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Elinor,  he  was  probably 
born  in  some  Kansas  cabin  and  has  practiced 
killing  snakes  all  his  life.  Not  a  very  ele 
vating  feat.  Let's  go  down  and  explore  La- 
gonda  Ledge  now  before  the  other  snake 
comes  in  for  the  coroner's  inquest." 

And  the  two  passed  down  the  stone  steps 
to  the  shady  level  campus  and  on  to  the  town 
beyond  it. 

"You  are  hard  on  snakes,  Burleigh,"  Dr. 
Fenneben  said  as  he  welcomed  the  country 
boy  into  his  study.  "A  bull  snake  is  a  harm 
less  creature,  and  he  is  the  farmer's  friend." 

"  Let  him  stay  on  the  farm  then.  I  hate 
him.  He's  no  friend  of  mine,"  Vic  replied. 


32  A  Master's  Degree 

He  was  overflowing  the  chair  recently 
graced  by  Professor  Burgess  and  clutching 
his  derby  as  if  it  might  escape  and  leave  him 
bareheaded  forever.  His  face  had  a  dogged 
expression  and  his  glance  was  stern.  Yet  his 
direct  words  and  the  deep  richness  of  his 
voice  put  him  outside  of  the  class  of  com 
monplace  beginners. 

"Are  you  fond  of  killing  things?"  the 
Dean  asked. 

The  ruddy  color  deepened  in  Vic  Bur- 
leigh's  brown  cheek,  but  the  steadfast  gaze 
of  his  eyes  and  the  firm  lines  of  his  mouth 
told  the  head  of  Sunrise  something  of  what 
he  would  find  in  the  sturdy  young  Jay- 
hawker. 

"  Sometimes,"  came  the  blunt  answer. 
"  I  Ve  always  lived  on  a  Kansas  claim. 
Unless  you  know  what  that  means  you  might 
not  understand  —  how  hard  a  life"  —  Vic 
stopped  abruptly  and  squeezed  the  rim  of 
his  derby. 

"  Never  mind.  We  take  only  face  value 
here.  Fine  view  from  that  window,"  and 
Lloyd  Fenneben's  genial  smile  began  to  win 
the  heart  of  the  country  boy  as  most  young 
hearts  were  won  to  him. 

Burleigh  leaned  toward  the  window,  for- 


Potter's  Clay  33 

getful  of  the  chair  arms  he  had  striven  to 
subdue,  the  late  afternoon  sunlight  falling 
on  his  brown  face  and  glinting  in  his  auburn 
hair. 

"  It's  as  pretty  as  paradise,"  he  said,  sim 
ply.  "There's  nothing  like  our  Kansas 
prairies." 

"You  come  from  the  plains  out  west,  I 
hear.  How  long  do  you  plan  to  stay  here, 
Burleigh?"  Dr.  Fenneben  asked. 

"  Four  years  if  I  can  make  it  go.  I  Ve 
got  a  little  schooling  and  I  know  how  to 
herd  cattle.  I  need  more  than  this,  if  I  am 
only  a  country  boy." 

"Who  pays  for  your  schooling,  yourself, 
or  your  father?"  Fenneben  queried. 

"  I  have  no  father  nor  mother  now." 

"You  are  willing  to  work  four  years  to 
get  a  diploma  from  Sunrise?  It  is  hard 
work;  all  the  harder  if  you  have  not  had 
much  schooling  before  it." 

"  I  'm  willing  to  work,  and  I  'd  like  to 
have  the  diploma  for  it,"  Vic  answered. 

"  Burleigh,  did  you  notice  the  letter  S 
carved  in  the  stone  above  the  door?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  suppose  it  stands  for  Sun 
rise?" 

"  It  does.     But  with  the   years   it  will 


34  A  Master's  Degree 

take  on  new  meanings  for  you.  When  you 
have  learned  all  these  meanings  you  will  be 
ready  for  your  diploma  —  and  more.  You 
will  be  far  on  your  way  to  the  winning  of 
a  Master's  Degree." 

Vic's  eyes  widened  with  a  sort  of  child 
like  simplicity.  He  forgot  his  hat  and  the 
chair  arms,  and  Dr.  Fenneben  noted  for 
the  first  time  that  his  golden-brown  eyes 
matching  his  auburn  hair  were  shaded  by 
long  black  lashes,  the  kind  artists  rave 
about,  and  arched  over  with  black  brows. 

"  His  eyes  and  voice  are  all  right,"  was 
the  Dean's  mental  comment.  ''There's 
good  blood  in  his  veins,  I  '11  wager." 

But  before  he  could  speak  further  the 
shrill  scream  of  a  frightened  child  came 
from  the  campus  below  the  ridge.  At  the 
cry  Vic  Burleigh  sprang  to  his  feet,  upset 
ting  his  chair,  and  without  stopping  to  pick 
it  up,  he  rushed  from  the  building. 

As  he  tore  down  the  long  flight  of  steps, 
Lloyd  Fenneben  caught  sight  of  a  child 
on  the  level  campus  running  toward  him 
as  fast  as  its  fat  little  legs  could  toddle. 
Two  minutes  later  Vic  Burleigh  was  back 
in  the  study,  panting  and  hot,  with  the  little 
one  clinging  to  his  neck. 


Potter's  Clay  35 

"  Excuse  me,  please,"  Vic  said  as  he  lifted 
the  fallen  chair.  "I  forgot  all  about  Bug 
down  there,  and  the  widow  Bull" — he 
gave  a  half-smile — "was  wriggling  around 
trying  to  find  her  mate,  and  scared  him. 
He's  too  little  to  be  left  alone,  anyhow." 

Bug  was  a  sturdy,  stubby  three-year-old, 
or  less,  dimpled  and  brown,  with  big  dark 
eyes  and  a  tangle  of  soft  little  red-brown 
ringlets.  As  Vic  seated  himself,  Bug 
perched  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  inside  of 
the  big  boy's  encircling  arm. 

"Who  is  your  friend?  Is  he  your 
brother?"  asked  the  Dean. 

"No.  He's  no  relation.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  him,  except  that  his  name  is 
Buler.  Bug  Buler,  he  says." 

Little  Bug  put  up  a  chubby  brown  hand 
loving-wise  to  Vic  Burleigh's  brown  cheek, 
and,  looking  straight  at  Dr.  Fenneben  with 
wide  serious  eyes,  he  asked, 

"Is  you  dood  to  Vic?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  Dean. 

"Nen,  I  like  you  fornever,"  Bug  de 
clared,  shutting  his  lips  so  tightly  that  his 
cheeks  puffed. 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  have  this  child 
here,  Burleigh?"  questioned  Fenneben. 


36  A  Master's  Degree 

"Because  he's  got  nobody  else  to  look 
after  him,"  answered  Vic. 

"  How  about  an  orphan  asylum?  " 

Vic  looked  down  at  the  little  fellow  cud 
dled  against  his  arm,  and  every  feature  of 
his  stern  face  softened. 

"Will  it  make  any  difference  about  him 
if  I  get  my  lessons,  sir?  I  can't  let  Bug  go 
now.  We  are  the  limit  for  each  other  — 
neither  of  us  got  anybody  else.  I  take  care 
of  him,  but  he  keeps  me  from  getting  too 
coarse  and  rough.  Every  fellow  needs 
something  innocent  and  good  about  him 
sometimes." 

"Oh,  no!  Keep  him  if  you  want  him. 
But  would  you  mind  telling  me  about 
him?" 

"  I  'd  rather  not  now,"  Burleigh  said, 
quietly,  and  Lloyd  Fenneben  knew  when  to 
drop  a  subject. 

"  Then  I  'm  through  with  you  for  today, 
Burleigh.  I  must  let  Miss  Saxon  have  my 
room  now.  Come  here  whenever  you  like, 
and  bring  Bug  if  you  care  to." 

Sunrise  students  always  left  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben's  study  with  a  little  more  of  self-respect 
than  when  they  entered  it;  richer,  not  so 
much  from  the  word  as  from  the  spirit  of 


Potter's  Clay  37 

the  head  of  Sunrise.  Victor  Burleigh  with 
little  Bug  Buler's  fat  fist  clasped  in  his  big, 
hard  hand  walked  out  of  the  college  door 
that  afternoon  with  the  unconscious  bap 
tism  of  the  student  upon  him,  the  dim  sense 
of  a  fellowship  with  a  scholarly  master  of 
books  and  of  men. 

Back  in  his  study  Lloyd  Fenneben  sat 
looking  out  once  more  at  the  Empire  that 
meant  nothing  but  dreary  distances  to  the 
scholarly  professor  of  Greek,  and  seemed 
a  paradise  to  the  untrained  young  fellow 
from  the  prairies. 

"  I  see  my  stint  of  cloth  for  the  day,"  he 
murmured.  "A  college  professor  in  the 
making  who  has  much  to  unlearn;  a  crude 
young  giant  who  is  fond  of  killing  things, 
and  cares  for  helpless  children;  and  a  beau 
tiful,  wilful,  characterless  girl  to  be  shown 
into  her  womanly  heritage.  The  clay  is 
ready.  It  is  the  potter  whose  hands  need 
skill.  Victor  Burleigh!  Victor  Burleigh! 
There's  my  greatest  problem  of  all  three. 
He  has  the  strength  of  a  Titan  in  those  arms, 
and  the  passion  of  a  tiger  behind  those  inno 
cent  yellow  eyes.  God  keep  me  on  the  hill 
top  nor  let  my  feet  once  get  into  the  dark 
and  dangerous  ways!" 


38  A  Master's  Degree 

He  looked  long  at  the  landscape  radiant 
under  the  level  rays  of  splendor  streaming 
from  the  low  afternoon  sun. 

"  I  wonder  who  built  that  fire,  and  what 
that  pillar  of  smoke  meant  this  afternoon. 
The  mystery  of  our  lives  hangs  some  token 
in  each  day." 

The  shadows  were  gathering  in  the  Wal 
nut  Valley,  the  pigeons  about  the  cottage 
up  the  river,  were  in  their  cotes  now,  the 
heat  of  the  day  was  over,  and  with  one 
more  look  at  the  far  peaceful  prairies  Dr. 
Lloyd  Fenneben  closed  his  study  door  and 
passed  out  into  the  cool  September  air. 


CHAPTER  III 

PIGEON  PLACE 

Strange  is  the  wind  and  the  tide, 

The  heavens  eternally  wide; 

Less  fathomed,  this  life  at  my  side. 

—  W.  H.  SIMPSON 

THE  Sunrise  rotunda  was  ringing  with 
a  chorus  from  three  hundred  throats  as 
three  hundred  students  poured  out  of  doors, 
and  over-flowed  the  ridge  and  spilled  down 
the  broad  steps,  making  a  babel  of  musical 
tongues;  while  fitting  itself  to  every  catchy 
college  air  known  to  Sunrise  came  the  noisy 
refrain: 

Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  I  RAH!  RAH!!! 

Again  it  was  repeated,  swelling  along  the 
ridge  and  floating  wide  away  over  the  Wal 
nut  Valley.  Nor  was  there  a  climax  of 
exuberance  until  the  appearance  of  Dr. 
Lloyd  Fenneben  himself,  with  his  tall  figure 

39 


40  A  Master's  Degree 

and  striking  presence  outlined  against  the 
gray  stone  columns  of  the  veranda.  All 
this  because  it  was  mid-October,  a  heaven- 
made  autumn  day  in  Kansas,  with  its 
gracious  warmth  and  bracing  breath;  with 
the  Indian  summer  haze  in  shimmering 
amethyst  and  gold  overhanging  the  land; 
and  the  Walnut  Valley,  gorgeous  in  the 
glow  of  the  October  frost-fires,  winding 
down  between  broad  seas  of  rainbow- 
radiant  prairies.  And  all  this  gladness  and 
grandeur,  by  the  decree  of  Dr.  Fenneben, 
was  given  in  fee  simple  to  these  three  hun 
dred  young  people  for  the  hours  of  one  per 
fect  day  —  their  annual  autumn  holiday.  No 
wonder  they  filled  the  air  with  shouts. 
And  before  the  singing  had  ceased  the 
crowd  broke  into  groups  by  natural  selec 
tion,  and  the  holiday  was  begun. 

Whatever  bounds  of  time  Nature  may 
give  to  the  seed  in  which  to  become  a  plant, 
or  to  the  grub  to  become  a  butterfly,  there 
is  no  set  limit  wherein  the  country-bred  boy 
may  bloom  into  a  full-fledged  college 
student. 

Seven  weeks  after  Vic  Burleigh  had  come 
alongside  the  Greek  Professor  into  Sunrise, 
found  the  quick  marvelous  change  from  the 


Pigeon  Place  41 

timid,  untrained,  overgrown  young  giant 
into  a  leader  of  his  clan,  the  pride  of  the 
Freshman,  the  terror  of  the  Sophomores,  the 
dramatic  interest  of  the  classroom,  and  the 
hope  of  Sunrise  on  the  football  gridiron. 
His  store-made  clothes  had  a  jaunty  care 
lessness  of  fit.  The  tan  had  left  his  cheek. 
His  auburn  hair  had  lost  its  sun-burn.  His 
powerful  physique,  the  charm  of  his  deep 
voice,  the  singular  beauty  of  his  wide  open 
golden-brown  eyes,  with  their  long  black 
lashes  lighting  up  his  rugged  face,  gave  to 
him  an  attractive  personality. 

Yet  to  Lloyd  Fenneben,  who  saw  below 
the  surface,  Victor  Burleigh  was  only  at  the 
beginning  of  things.  Something  of  the  tiger 
light  in  the  brown  eyes,  the  pride  in  brute 
strength,  the  blunt  justice  lacking  the  finer 
sense  of  mercy,  showed  how  wide  yet  was 
the  distance  between  the  man  and  the  gen 
tleman. 

When  Dr.  Fenneben  returned  to  his  study 
after  the  hilarious  demonstration  he  found 
Dennie  Saxon  busy  with  the  little  film  of 
dust  that  comes  in  overnight.  Old  Bond 
Saxon,  Dennie's  father,  had  been  one  of  the 
improvident  of  Lagonda  Ledge  who  took  a 
new  lease  on  a  livelihood  with  the  advent 


42  A  Master's  Degree 

of  Sunrise.  From  being  a  dissipated  old 
fellow  drifting  toward  pauperism,  he  be 
came  the  proprietor  of  a  respectable  board 
ing  house  for  students,  doing  average  well. 
At  rare  intervals,  however,  he  lapsed  into 
his  old  ways.  During  such  occasions  he 
kept  to  the  river  side  of  the  town.  Sober,  he 
was  good-natured  and  obliging;  drunken,  he 
was  sullen,  with  a  disposition  to  skulk  out  of 
sight  and  be  alone.  His  daughter  Dennie 
had  her  father's  good-nature  combined  with 
a  will  power  all  her  own. 

As  Dr.  Fenneben  watched  her  about  her 
work  this  morning,  he  noted  how  comfort 
ably  she  took  hold  of  it.  He  noted,  too,  that 
her  heavy  yellow-brown  hair  was  full  of  rip 
ples  just  where  ripples  helped,  that  her 
arms  were  plump,  that  she  was  short  and 
nothing  willowy,  and  that  she  had  a  mis 
chievous  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  holiday,  Miss 
Dennie?"  he  asked,  presently. 

"  I  wanted  this  done  so  I  would  n't  be  see 
ing  dusty  books  in  my  daydreams,"  Dennie 
answered. 

"Where  do  you  do  your  dreaming  to 
day?" 

"A  crowd  of  us  are  going  down  the  river 


Pigeon  Place  43 

to  the  Kickapoo  Corral.  I  must  make  the 
cakes  yet  this  morning,"  she  answered. 

"  Good  enough  Can't  I  do  something  for 
you?  Do  you  need  a  chaperon?"  the  Dean 
queried,  smilingly. 

"  Professor  Burgess  is  to  be  our  chaperon. 
He  is  all  we  can  look  after."  Dennie's  gray 
eyes  danced,  but  she  was  serious  a  moment 
later. 

"  Dr.  Fenneben,  you  can  do  something, 
maybe,  that's  none  of  your  business,  nor 
mine."  Dennie  wondered  afterward  how 
she  could  have  had  the  courage  to  speak 
these  words. 

"That's  generally  the  easy  thing.  What 
is  it?"  the  Dean  smiled. 

The  girl  hung  her  feather  brush  in  its 
place  and  sat  down  opposite  to  him. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  Pigeon 
Place?"  she  began. 

"The  little  place  up  the  river  where  a 
queer,  half-crazy  woman  lives  alone  with  a 
fierce  dog?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  you  never  heard  anything  more?" 
Dennie  queried. 

"  Only  that  the  house  is  hidden  from  the 
road  and  has  many  pigeons  about  it,  and 
that  the  woman  sees  few  callers.  I  've  never 


44  A  Master  s  Degree 

located  the  place.  Tell  me  about  it,"  he 
replied. 

"  Bug  Buler  and  I  were  up  there  after 
eggs  this  morning.  Bug  is  Victor  Bur- 
leigh's  little  boy.  They  board  at  our 
house,"  Dennie  explained.  "  Pigeon  Place 
is  a  little  cottage  all  covered  with  vines  and 
with  flowers  everywhere.  It's  hidden  away 
from  the  road  just  outside  of  town.  Mrs. 
Marian  isn't  crazy  nor  queer,  only  she 
seldom  leaves  home,  never  goes  to  church, 
nor  visits  anywhere.  She  doesn't  care  for 
anybody,  nor  take  any  interest  in  Lagonda 
Ledge,  and  she  keeps  a  Great  Dane  dog, 
as  big  as  a  calf,  that  is  friendly  to  women 
and  children,  but  won't  let  a  man  come  near, 
unless  Mrs.  Marian  says  so."  Dennie 
paused. 

"  Very  interesting,  Miss  Dennie,  but  what 
can  I  do?"  Fenneben  asked.  "Shall  I  kill 
the  dog  and  carry  off  the  woman  like  the 
regulation  grim  ogre  of  the  fairy  tales?" 

Dennie  hesitated.  Few  girls  would  have 
come  to  a  college  president  on  such  a  mis 
sion  as  hers.  But  then  few  college  presi 
dents  are  like  Lloyd  Fenneben. 

"Of  course  nobody  likes  Mrs.  Marian, 
and  my  father  —  when  he's  not  quite  him- 


Pigeon  Place  45 

self  —  says  dreadful  things  if  I  mention  her 
name."  Dennie's  cheeks  were  crimson  as 
she  thought  of  her  father.  "  It 's  none  of  my 
business,  but  I  Ve  felt  sorry  for  Mrs.  Marian 
ever  since  she  came  here.  She  seems  like  an 
innocent  outcast." 

"That  is  very  pitiful."  Lloyd  Fenneben's 
voice  was  sympathetic. 

"This  morning,"  continued  Dennie, 
"  Bug  was  playing  with  the  dog  outside,  and 
I  went  into  the  house  for  the  first  time.  Mrs. 
Marian  is  very  pleasant.  She  asked  me 
about  my  work  here  and  I  told  her  about 
Sunrise  and  you,  and  your  niece,  Miss 
Elinor,  being  here." 

"All  the  interesting  features.  Did  you 
mention  Professor  Burgess?"  The  query 
was  innocently  meant,  but  it  brought  the 
color  to  Dennie  Saxon's  cheek. 

"  No,  I  did  n't  think  he  was  in  tnat  class," 
she  replied,  quickly.  "But  what  surprised 
me  was  her  interest  in  things.  She  is  a  pretty, 
refined,  young-looking  woman,  with  gray 
hair.  When  I  was  leaving  I  turned  back 
to  ask  about  some  eggs  for  Saturday.  She 
thought  I  was  gone,  and  she  had  dropped 
her  head  on  the  table  and  was  crying,  so  I 
slipped  out  without  her  knowing."  Dennie's 


46  A  Master's  Degree 

gray  eyes  were  full  of  tears  now.  "  Dr.  Fen- 
neben,  if  talking  about  Sunrise  made  her 
do  that,  maybe  you  might  do  something  for 
her.  I  pity  her  so.  Nobody  seems  to  care 
about  her.  My  father  is  set  against  her 
when  he  is  not  responsible,  and  he  might — " 
She  stopped  abruptly  and  did  not  finish  the 
sentence. 

The  Dean  looked  out  of  the  window  at 
the  purple  mist  melting  along  the  horizon 
line.  Down  in  the  valley  pigeons  were 
circling  above  a  wooded  spot  at  a  bend 
in  the  Walnut  River.  Fenneben  remem 
bered  now  that  he  had  seen  them  there 
many  times.  He  had  a  boyhood  memory  of 
a  country  home  with  pigeons  flying  about  it. 

"  I  wish,  too,  that  I  might  do  something," 
he  said  at  last.  "You  say  she  will  not  let 
men  inside  her  gate  now.  I  '11  keep  her  in 
mind,  though.  The  gate  may  open  some 
time." 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Lloyd  Fenne 
ben  left  his  study  for  a  stroll.  As  he  ap 
proached  the  Saxon  House,  he  saw  old  Bond 
Saxon  slipping  out  of  the  side  gate  and  with 
uncertain  steps  skulk  down  the  alley. 

"Poor  old  sinner!  What  a  slave  and  a 
fool  whisky  can  make  of  a  man!"  he 


Pigeon  Place  47 

thought.  Then  he  remembered  Dennie's 
anxiety  of  the  morning.  "There  must  be 
some  cause  for  his  prejudice  against  this 
strange  hermit  woman  when  he  is  drunk. 
Bond  Saxon  is  not  a  man  to  hate  anybody 
when  he  is  sober." 

"  Is  you  Don  Fonnyboner'"  Bug  Buler's 
little  piping  voice  from  the  doorstep  haled 
the  Dean.  "  I  finked  Vic  would  turn,  and 
he  don't  turn,  and  I 's  hungry  for  somebody. 
May  I  go  wis  you,  Don  Fonnybone?"  The 
baby  lips  quivered. 

Lloyd  Fenneben  held  out  his  hand  and 
Bug  put  his  little  fist  into  it. 

"Where  shall  we  go,  Bug?  I'm  hungry 
for  somebody,  too." 

"Let's  do  find  the  bunny  the  bid  dod  ist 
scared  away  this  morning.  Turn  on!" 

Lloyd  Fenneben  was  hardly  conscious 
that  Bug  was  choosing  their  path  as  the  two 
strolled  away  together.  Everywhere  there 
was  the  pathos  of  a  waning  autumn  day,  and 
a  soft  haze  creeping  out  of  the  west  was 
making  a  blood-red  carbuncle  of  the  sun,  set 
as  a  jewel  on  the  amber-veiled  bosom  of  the 
sky.  The  air  was  soft,  wooing  the  spirit  to  a 
still,  sweet  peace.  The  two  were  at  the 
outskirts  of  Lagonda  Ledge  now.  The  last 


A  Master's  Degree 


board  walk  was  three  blocks  back,  and  the 
cinder-made  way  had  dwindled  to  a  bare 
hard  path  by  the  roadside.  A  bend  in  the 
river  cutting  close  to  the  road  shows  a  long 
vista  of  the  Walnut  bordered  by  vine-draped 
shrubbery  and  overhung  with  trees.  A  slab 
of  limestone  beside  a  huge  elm  tree  had  been 
placed  at  this  bend  to  prevent  the  bank 
from  breaking,  or  a  chance  misdriving  into 
the  water. 

"  I 's  pitty  tired,"  Bug  said  as  the  two 
reached  the  stone.  "Will  we  turn  to  the 
bunny's  house  pitty  soon?" 

"We'll  rest  here  a  while  and  maybe  the 
bunny  will  come  out  to  meet  us,"  Dr.  Fen- 
neben  said,  and  they  sat  down  on  the  broad 
stone. 

"  It  was  somewhere  here  the  bunny 
runned."  Little  Bug  studied  the  roadside 
with  a  quaint  puzzled  face.  "  Is  you  'faid 
of  snakes?" 

"  Not  very  much."  The  Dean's  eyes  were 
on  the  graceful  flight  of  pigeons  circling 
about  the  trees  beyond  the  bend. 

"Vic  isn't  'faid.  He  killed  bid  one,  two, 
five,  free  wattle,  wattle  snakes-  Bug 
caught  his  breath  suddenly — "He  told  me 
not  to  tell  that.  I  fordot.  I  don't  'member. 


Pigeon  Place  49 

He  did  n't  do  it — he  did  n't  killed  no  snakes 
fornever." 

Dr.  Fenneben  gave  little  heed  to  this 
prattle.  His  eyes  were  on  the  pigeons  cleav 
ing  the  air  with  short,  graceful  flights.  Pres 
ently  he  felt  the  soft  touch  of  baby  curls 
against  his  hand,  and  little  Bug  had  fallen 
asleep  with  his  drooping  head  on  Fenne- 
ben's  lap. 

The  Dean  gently  placed  the  tired  little 
one  in  an  easy  position,  and  rested  his 
shoulder  against  the  tree. 

"That  must  be  Pigeon  Place,"  he  mused. 
"  Every  town  has  its  odd  characters.  This  is 
one  of  Lagonda  Ledge's  little  mysteries. 
Dennie  finds  it  a  pathetic  one.  How  grace 
ful  those  pigeons  are!"  And  his  thoughts 
drifted  to  a  far  New  England  homestead 
where  pigeons  used  to  sweep  about  an  old 
barn  roof. 

A  fuzzy  gray  rabbit  flashed  across  the 
road,  followed  by  a  Great  Dane  dog  in  hot 
chase. 

"  Bug's  bunny!  I  hope  the  big  murderer 
will  miss  it,"  Fenneben  thought. 

The  roadside  bushes  half  hid  him.  As 
the  crashing  sound  of  the  huge  dog  through 
the  underbrush  ceased  he  noticed  a  woman 


50  A  Master's  Degree 

coming  leisurely  toward  him.  Her  arms 
were  full  of  bitter-sweet  berries  and  flaming 
autumn  leaves.  She  wore  no  hat  and  Fenne- 
ben  saw  that  her  gray  hair  was  wound  like 
a  coronal  about  her  head.  Before  he  could 
catch  sight  of  her  face  a  heavy  staggering 
step  was  beside  him,  and  old  Bond  Saxon, 
muttering  and  shaking  his  clenched  fists, 
passed  beyond  him  toward  the  woman* 
Lloyd  Fenneben's  own  fists  clenched,  but 
he  sat  stone  still.  The  woman  seemed  to 
melt  into  the  bushes  and  obliterate  herself 
entirely,  while  the  drunken  man  stalked  un 
steadily  on  toward  where  she  had  been. 
Then  shaking  his  fists  vehemently  at  the 
pigeons,  he  skulked  around  the  bend  in  the 
road. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  the  woman 
emerged  from  the  bushes,  with  autumn 
leaves  hiding  her  crown  of  hair.  She 
hastened  a  few  rods  toward  the  man  watch 
ing  her,  then  disappeared  through  a  vine- 
covered  gateway  into  a  wilderness  of  shrub 
bery,  beyond  which  the  pigeons  were  cooing 
about  their  cotes. 

As  she  closed  the  gate,  she  caught  sight 
of  Lloyd  Fenneben,  leaning  motionless 
against  the  gray  bole  of  the  elm  tree.  But 


Pigeon  Place  5 1 

she  was  looking  through  a  tangle  of  pur 
ple  oak  leaves  and  twining  bitter-sweet 
branches,  and  Fenneben  was  unconscious  of 
being  discovered. 

"A  woman  never  could  whistle,"  he 
smiled,  as  he  listened,  "but  that  call  seems 
to  do  for  the  dog,  all  right." 

The  Great  Dane  was  tearing  across  lots 
in  answer  to  the  trill  of  a  woman's  voice. 

"  She  is  safe  now.  But  what  does  it  all 
mean?  Is  there  a  wayside  tragedy  here  that 
calls  for  my  unraveling?" 

Attracted  by  some  subtle  force  beyond  his 
power  to  check,  he  turned  toward  the  river 
and  looked  steadily  at  the  still  overhanging 
shrubbery.  Just  below  him,  where  the  cur 
rent  turns,  the  quiet  waters  were  lapping 
about  a  ledge  of  rock.  Between  that  ledge 
and  himself  a  tangle  of  bushes  clutched  the 
steep  bank.  He  looked  straight  into  the 
tangle.  Just  plain  twig  and  brown  leaf,  giv 
ing  place  as  he  stared,  for  two  still  black 
human  eyes  looking  balefully  at  him  as  a 
snake  at  its  prey.  Lloyd  Fenneben  could 
not  withdraw  his  gaze.  The  two  eyes  —  no 
other  human  token  visible  —  just  two  cruel 
human  eyes  full  of  human  hate  were  fixed 
on  him.  And  the  fascination  of  the  thing 


52  A  Master's  Degree 

was  paralyzing,  horrible.  He  could  not 
move  nor  utter  a  sound.  Bug  Buler  woke 
with  a  little  cry.  The  bushes  by  the  river 
side  just  rippled  —  one  quiver  of  motion  — 
and  the  eyes  were  not  there.  Then  Fenne- 
ben  knew  that  his  heart,  which  had  been 
still  for  an  age,  had  begun  to  beat  again. 
Bug  stared  up  into  his  face,  dazed  from 
sleep. 

"Where's  my  Vic?  Who's  dot  me?"  he 
cried. 

"  We  came  to  hunt  the  bunny.  He 's  gone 
away  again.  Shall  we  go  back  home?  "  The 
gentle  voice  and  strong  hand  soothed  the 
little  one. 

"  It's  dettin'  told.  Let's  wun  home."  Bug 
cuddled  against  Fenneben's  side  and  hugged 
his  hand.  "  I  love  you  lots,"  he  said,  look 
ing  up  with  eyes  of  innocent  trust. 

"Yes,  let's  run  home.  There  is  a  storm 
in  the  air  and  the  sun  is  hidden  from  the 
valley."  He  stooped  and  kissed  the  little 
upturned  face.  "Thank  heaven  for  chil 
dren!"  he  murmured.  "Amid  skulking, 
drunken  men  and  strange,  lonely  women, 
and  cruel  eyes  of  unknown  beings,  they  lead 
us  loving-wise  back  home  again." 

Behind   the  vine-covered   gate   a   gray- 


Pigeon  Place  53 

haired,  fair-faced  woman  watched  the  two 
as  they  disappeared  down  the  road. 

And  the  blood-red  sun  out  on  the  west 
prairie  sank  swiftly  into  a  blue  cloudbank, 
presaging  the  coming  of  a  storm. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  KICKAPOO  CORRAL 

And  even  now,  as  the  night  comes,  and  the  shadows 

gather  round, 
And  you  tell  the  old-time  story,  I  can  almost  hear 

the  sound 
Of  the  horses'  hoofs  in  the  silence,  and  the  'voices  of 

struggling  men; 
For  the  night  is  the  same  forever,  and  the  time 

comes  back  again. 

—  JAMES  W.  STEELE 


the  beginning  of  things  in  the 
Walnut  Valley,  the  Kickapoo  Corral 
had  its  uses.  Nature  built  it  to  this  end. 
The  river  course  follows  the  pattern  of  the 
letter  S  faced  westward  instead  of  eastward. 
The  upper  half  of  the  letter  is  properly 
shaped,  but  the  sharpened  curve  at  the  mid 
dle  leaves  only  a  narrow  distance  across  the 
lower  space.  In  this  outline  runs  the  Wal 
nut,  its  upper  curve  almost  surrounding  a 
little  wooded  peninsula  that  slopes  gently 
on  its  side  to  the  water's  edge.  But  the 
farther  bank  stands  up  in  a  straight  lime 
stone  bluff  forming  a  high  wall  of  protec- 

54 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  55 

tion  about  the  river-encircled  ground.  A 
less  severe  bluff  crosses  the  open  part  of  the 
peninsula,  reaching  the  hither  side  of  the 
river  below  the  sharp  bend.  The  space  in 
side,  stone-walled  and  water-bound,  made 
an  ideal  shelter  for  the  wild  life  that  should 
inhabit  it.  And  Nature  saw  that  it  was  good 
and  went  away  and  left  it,  not  forgetting 
to  lock  the  door  upon  it.  For  the  enemy 
who  would  enter  this  protecting  shelter  must 
come  through  the  gateway  of  the  river. 
There  was  only  one  right  place  to  do  this. 
Deceivingly  near  to  the  shallow  rock-based 
ford  before  the  Corral,  so  near  that  only  the 
wise  ones  knew  how  to  miss  it,  Nature 
placed  the  crudest  whirlpool  that  ever 
swung  an  even  surface  up  stream,  its  gentle 
motion  telling  nothing  of  the  fatal  suction 
underneath  that  level  stretch  of  steady,  slow 
moving,  irresistible  water. 

What  use  the  primitive  tribes  made  of  this 
spot  the  river  has  never  told.  But  in  the 
day  of  the  Kickapoo  supremacy  it  came  to 
its  christening.  Here  the  tribe  found  a 
refuge  and  harbored  its  stolen  plunder. 
From  this  wooded  covert  it  sent  its  death- 
singing  arrows  through  the  heart  of  its 
enemy  who  dared  to  stand  in  relief  on  that 


56  A  Master's  Degree 

stone  bluff.  Here  it  laughed  at  the  drown 
ing  cries  of  those  who  were  caught  in  the 
fatal  whirlpool  beyond  the  curve  in  the 
river  wall,  and  here  it  endured  siege  and 
slaughter  when  foes  were  valiant  enough, 
and  numerous  enough  to  storm  into  its 
stronghold  over  the  dead  bodies  of  their 
own  vanguard. 

Weird  and  tragical  are  the  legends  of  the 
Kickapoo  Corral,  left  for  a  stronger  race  to 
marvel  over.  For,  with  the  swing  of  time, 
the  white  man  cut  a  road  down  the  steep 
bluff  at  the  sharpest  bend  and  made  a  ford 
in  the  shallow  place  between  the  whirlpool 
and  the  old  Corral,  and  the  Nature-built 
stockade  became  a  peaceful  spot,  specially 
ordained  by  Providence,  the  Sunrise  Fresh 
men  claimed,  as  a  picnic  ground  for  their 
autumn  holiday.  At  least  the  young  folk  for 
whom  Professor  Burgess  was  acting  as 
chaperon  took  it  so,  and  reveled  in  the  right. 

Interest  in  Greek  had  greatly  increased  in 
Sunrise  with  the  advent  of  the  handsome 
young  Harvard  man,  and  his  desired  se 
clusion  for  profound  research  had  not  yet 
been  fully  realized.  Types  for  study  were 
plentiful,  however,  especially  the  type  of 
the  presumptuous  young  fellow  who  dared 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  57 

to  admire  Elinor  Wream.  By  divine  right 
she  was  the  most  popular  girl  in  Sunrise, 
which  pleased  Professor  Burgess  up  to  a 
certain  point.  That  point  was  Victor  Bur- 
leigh.  The  silent  antagonism  between  these 
two  daily  grew  stronger;  why,  neither  one 
could  have  told  up  to  this  holiday. 

The  day  had  been  perfect — the  weather, 
the  dinner,  the  company,  the  woodland  — 
even  the  amber  light  in  the  sky  softening  the 
glow  as  the  afternoon  slipped  down  toward 
twilight  in  the  sheltered  old  Corral. 

"Come,  Vic  Burleigh,  help  me  to  start 
this  fire  for  supper,"  Dennie  Saxon  called. 
"  We  won't  get  our  coffee  and  ham  and  eggs 
ready  before  midnight." 

"  Here,  Trench,  or  some  of  you  fellows, 
get  busy,"  Vic  called  back  to  the  big  right 
guard  of  the  Sunrise  football  squad. 
"  Elinor  and  I  are  going  to  climb  the  west 
bluff  to  see  what's  the  matter  with  the  sun. 
It  looks  sick.  I  Ve  been  hired  man  all  day; 
carried  nineteen  girls  across  the  shallows, 
packed  all  the  lunch-baskets,  toted  all  the 
wood,  built  all  the  fires,  washed  all  the 
dishes — " 

"Ate  all  the  dinner,  drank  all  the  grape 
juice,  stepped  on  all  the  custard  pies,  upset 


58  A  Master's  Degree 

all  the  cream  bottles.  Oh,  you  piker,  get 
out!"  Trench  aimed  an  empty  lunch- 
basket  at  Vic's  head  with  the  words. 

Being  a  chaperon  was  a  pleasant  office  to 
Professor  Burgess  today  but  for  the  task  of 
throwing  a  barrier  about  Elinor  every  time 
Vic  Burleigh  came  near.  And  Burleigh, 
lacking  many  other  things  more  than  in 
sight,  kept  him  busy  at  barrier  building. 

"  Miss  Wream,  you  can't  think  of  climb 
ing  that  rough  place,"  Burgess  protested, 
with  a  sharp  glance  of  resentment  at  the  big 
young  fellow  who  dared  to  call  her  Elinor. 

The  tiger-light  blazed  in  the  eyes  that 
flashed  back  at  him,  as  Vic  cried  daringly. 

"Oh,  come  on,  Elinor;  be  a  good  In 
dian!" 

"Don't  do  it,  Miss  Wream,"  Vincent 
Burgess  pleaded. 

Elinor  looked  from  the  one  to  the  other, 
and  the  very  magnetism  of  power  called  her. 

"  I  mean  to  try,  anyhow,"  she  declared. 
"Will  you  pick  me  up  if  I  fall,  Victor?" 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  hardly  go  away  and 
leave  you  to  perish  miserably,"  Vic  assured 
her,  and  they  were  off  together. 

The  Wream  men  were  slender,  and  all  of 
them,  except  Lloyd  Fenneben,  the  step- 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  59 

brother,  wore  nose  glasses  and  drank  hot 
water  at  breakfast,  and  ate  predigested 
foods,  and  talked  of  acids  and  carbons,  and 
took  prescribed  gestures  for  exercise.  The 
joyousness  of  perfect  health  was  in  every 
motion  of  this  young  man.  His  brown 
sweater  showed  a  hard  white  throat.  He 
planted  his  feet  firmly.  And  he  leaped  up 
the  bluffside  easily.  If  Elinor  slipped,  the 
strength  of  his  grip  on  her  arm  reassured 
her,  until  climbing  beside  him  became  a 
joy. 

The  bluff  was  less  surly  than  it  appeared 
to  be  down  in  the  Corral,  and  the  benedic 
tion  of  autumn  was  in  the  view  from  its 
crest.  They  sat  down  on  the  stone  ledge 
crowning  it,  and  Elinor  threw  aside  her 
jaunty  scarlet  outing  cap.  The  breezes 
played  in  her  dark  hair,  and  her  cheeks  were 
pink  from  the  exercise.  Victor  Burleigh 
looked  at  her  with  frank,  wide-open  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  my  hair  a 
fright?"  she  murmured. 

"A  fright!"  Burleigh  flung  off  his  cap 
and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  own  hair. 
"  Not  what  I  call  a  fright,"  he  asserted  in 
an  even  tone. 

"What's  that  scar  on  your  left  arm?    It 


60  A  Master  s  Degree 

looks  like  a  little  hole  dug  out,"  Elinor  de 
clared. 

Vic's  brown  sweater  sleeve  was  pushed  up 
to  the  elbow. 

"  It  is  a  little  hole  I  put  in  where  I  dug 
out  the  flesh  with  a  pocket  knife,"  he 
replied,  carelessly. 

"Did  you  do  that  yourself?"  Elinor 
cried.  "What  made  you  be  so  cruel?" 

"  I  wasn't  so  cruel.  *  I  seen  my  duty  and 
I  done  it  noble,'  as  the  essay  runs.  I  made 
that  vacancy  to  get  ahead  of  a  rattlesnake 
that  got  me  there,  a  venomous  big  one  with 
nine  police  calls  on  its  tail,  and  that's  no 
snake  story,  either.  I  cut  the  flesh  out  to  get 
rid  of  the  poison.  I  wasn't  in  a  college 
laboratory  and  I  had  to  work  fast  and  use 
what  tools  I  had  with  me.  I  killed  the  gen 
tleman  that  did  the  mischief,  though,"  Vic 
added  carelessly,  deftly  slipping  down  his 
sleeve  as  if  to  change  the  subject. 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  it,  do,"  Elinor  urged. 
"You  were  killing  a  snake  the  first  time  I 
saw  you." 

How  dainty  and  sweet  she  was  sitting 
there  in  her  neat-fitting  outing  suit  of  dark 
gray  with  scarlet  pipings  and  buttons  and 
pocket  flaps,  and  the  scarlet  of  her  full  lips, 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  6 1 

and  the  coral  tint  of  her  cheeks,  the  white 
hands  and  white  throat  and  brow,  the  dark 
eyes  and  finely  shaped  head  with  abundant 
beautiful  hair. 

Vic  Burleigh  sat  looking  straight  at  her 
and  the  light  in  his  own  eyes  told  nothing 
of  the  glitter  that  had  flashed  in  them  when 
he  glared  at  Professor  Burgess  down  in  the 
Corral. 

"I  wasn't  killing  snakes.  I  was  looking 
up  at  a  girl  on  the  rotunda  stairs  the  first 
time,"  he  said,  "and  I  don't  want  to  tell 
about  this  scar,  because  I  Ve  wished  a  thou 
sand  times  to  forget  it.  See  how  much 
darker  it  is  down  there  than  it  is  up  here." 

The  shadows  were  lengthening  in  the 
Corral  where  the  supper  fires  were  gleam 
ing.  Across  the  low  bluff  the  imprisoned 
sun  was  sending  a  dull  red  glow  along  the 
waters  of  the  Walnut. 

"  Look  at  that  still  place  in  the  river, 
Victor.  The  ripples  are  all  on  the  farther 
side,"  Elinor  said,  looking  pensively  down 
stream. 

"Watch  it  a  minute.  Do  you  see  that  bit 
of  drift  coming  upstream  in  the  still 
water?"  Vic  asked. 

"Why,  the  water  does  move;  toward  us, 


62  A  Master's  Degree 

too,  instead  of  down  the  river.  I  'd  like  to 
boat  around  in  that  quiet  place." 

She  was  leaning  forward,  resting  her  chin 
in  her  hand.  In  outline  against  the  misty 
background  shot  through  with  the  crimson 
light  from  the  storm-smothered  sun,  with 
the  gray  shadows  of  the  old  Kickapoo  Cor 
ral  below  them,  hemmed  in  by  the  silver 
gleaming  waters  of  the  Walnut,  a  picture 
grew  up  before  Victor  Burleigh's  eyes  that 
he  was  never  to  forget.  Like  the  cleft  of  the 
lightning  through  the  cloud,  like  the  flash 
of  the  swallow's  wing,  the  careless-hearted 
boy  leaped  to  the  stature  of  a  man,  into 
whose  soul  the  love  of  a  lifetime  is  born. 
Unconsciously,  he  drew  away  from  her,  and 
long  afterward  she  recalled  the  sweetness 
of  his  deep  voice  when  he  spoke  again. 

"  Elinor  Wream,  I  'd  rather  see  you  help 
less  up  here  with  the  hungriest  wild  beast 
between  us  that  ever  tore  a  human  form  to 
pieces  than  to  see  you  in  that  quiet  water 
below  the  shallows." 

"  Why?  "   Elinor  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"Because  I  could  save  your  life  here, 
maybe,  even  if  I  lost  mine.  Down  there  I 
could  drown  for  you,  but  that  would  n't  save 
you.  Nobody  ever  swam  that  whirlpool 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  63 

and  lived  to  tell  about  it.  There's  a  ledge 
underneath  that  holds  down  what  the  in 
fernal  slow  suction  swallows.  But  it's  dead 
sure." 

"Why,  that's  awful,"  Elinor  said, 
lightly,  for  she  had  no  picture  of  him  en 
gulfed  in  the  slow-moving  treachery  below 
them. 

"There's  an  old  Indian  legend  about  that 
pool,"  Vic  said,  staring  down  at  the  water. 

"Tell  me  about  it."  Elinor  was  break 
ing  the  twigs  from  a  branch  of  buck-berry 
growing  beside  her. 

"Oh,  it's  a  tragical  one,  like  everything 
else  about  that  place,"  Vic  responded, 
grimly.  "Old  Lagonda,  Chief  of  the  Wa- 
hoos,  I  reckon,  I  don't  know  his  tribe,  did  n't 
want  to  give  up  this  valley  to  the  sons  and 
heirs  of  Sunrise  to  desecrate  with  salmon 
cans  and  pop  bottles  and  Harvard-turned 
chaperons.  He  held  out  against  putting 
his  multiplication  sign  to  the  treaty,  claim 
ing  that  land  was  like  water  and  air  and 
could  n't  be  bought  and  sold.  But  the  white 
men  with  true  missionary  courtesy  held  his 
head  under  water  till  he  burbled  'Nuff,' 
and  signed  up  with  a  piece  of  charcoal. 
Then  he  went  down  the  river  to  this  smooth- 


64  A  Master's  Degree 

faced  whirlpool,  and  laid  a  curse  on  the 
sons  of  men  who  had  taken  his  own  from 
him." 

The  twilight  had  deepened.  The  sun  was 
lost  in  the  cloudbank  out  of  which  a  hot 
wind  was  sweeping  eastward.  Vic  was  tell 
ing  the  story  well,  and  the  magnetism  of  his 
voice  was  compelling.  Elinor  drew  nearer 
to  him. 

"  What  was  the  curse?  I  wouldn't  want 
to  go  near  that  place,  unless  you  were  with 


me." 


The  very  innocence  of  the  words  put  a 
thrill  in  Vic  Burleigh's  every  pulse  beat. 

"  Don't  ever  do  it,  if  you  can  help  it." 
Vic  could  not  keep  back  the  words.  "  Old 
Lagonda  decreed  a  tribute  to  the  river  for 
the  wrong  done  to  him,  a  life  a  year  in  that 
pool.  And  the  Walnut  has  been  exacting 
in  its  rights.  Life  after  life  has  gone  out 
down  there  until  sometimes  it  seems  like  the 
old  chief's  curse  would  never  be  lifted." 

"  I  hope  it  may  be,  while  I  am  at  Sunrise, 
anyhow,"  Elinor  said.  "  I  don't  like  real 
tragedies  about  me.  I  like  an  easy,  com 
fortable  life,  and  everybody  good  and 
happy.  I  hope  the  curse  will  be  staid  until 
I  go  back  home." 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  65 

Vic  hadn't  thought  of  this.  Of  course, 
she  would  leave  Sunrise  some  time.  Her 
home  was  in  Cambridge-by-the-Sea,  not  on 
the  Prairie-by-the-Walnut.  She  belonged 
to  the  dead-language  scholars,  not  to  crude 
red-blooded  creatures  like  himself.  He 
turned  his  face  to  the  west  and  the  threaten 
ing  sky  seemed  in  harmony  with  his  storm- 
riven  soul.  He  was  so  young — less  than 
half  an  hour  older  than  the  big  whole 
hearted  fellow  who  started  up  the  bluff  in 
picnic  frolic  with  a  pretty  girl  whom  Pro 
fessor  Burgess  adored.  That  was  one  rea 
son  why  he  had  brought  her  up.  He  wanted 
to  tease  the  Professor  then.  He  hated 
Burgess  now,  and  the  white  teeth  clinched 
at  the  thought  of  him. 

A  sudden  shouting  and  beating  of  tom 
toms  down  in  the  Corral,  and  the  call  in 
crude  rhyme  to  straggling  couples  to  close 
in,  announced  supper.  High  above  other 
whooping  the  voice  of  Trench,  the  big  right 
guard,  reached  the  top  of  the  bluff: 

Victor  Burleigh  and  Elinor  Wream, 
Better  wake  from  Love's  Young  Dream, 
Before  the  ants  get  into  the  cream. 

The  beating  of  a  dishpan  drowned  the 


66  A  Master's  Degree 

chorus.    Then  down  by  the  river  Dennie's 
soprano  streamed  out, 

The  sun  is  sot, 
The  coffee's  hot, 
The  supper's  got. 

What? 
Yes!     Got! 

Answering  this  call  from  the  north  end 
of  the  Corral,  a  heavy  base  growled, 

Dennie  is  sad, 

The  eggs  are  bad; 

The  Professor's  mad 

At  a  College  lad. 

Burleigh !  Burly !  Burlee ! 

Come  home !    Come  home !    Come  home ! 

"The  Kickapoos  are  on  the  warpath. 
Let's  go  down  and  get  into  the  running." 

Vic  lifted  Elinor  to  her  feet  with  a  sort  of 
reverence  in  his  touch.  But  she  did  not 
note  that  it  was  otherwise  than  the  good- 
natured  grip  of  the  comrade  who  had 
helped  her  up  the  steep  places  half  an  hour 
ago. 

Descent  was  more  difficult,  and  it  was 
growing  dark  rapidly.  Vic  held  her  arm 
to  keep  her  from  falling,  and  once  on  a  slid 
ing  rock,  he  had  to  catch  both  of  her  hands, 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  67 

and  half-lift  her  to  solid  footing.  Her 
shining  eyes,  starbright  in  the  gloom,  the 
dainty  rose  hue  of  her  cheeks,  the  touch  of 
her  soft  white  hands,  and  her  need  for  his 
strength,  made  the  shadowy  path  delicious 
for  her  companion. 

The  call  of  the  wild  was  in  that  evening 
camp  in  the  autumn  woodland,  in  the 
charm  of  the  deepening  twilight  warmed 
with  the  red  glow  of  the  fires,  in  the  appe 
tizing  odor  of  coffee,  the  unconventional 
freedom,  the  carelessness  of  youth,  the  jolly 
good-fellowship  of  comrades.  To  Pro 
fessor  Burgess  it  had  the  added  charm  of 
newness.  All  the  pleasures  of  popularity 
were  his  this  evening,  for  he  was  young  him 
self,  he  dressed  well,  and  he  had  the  grace 
of  a  gentleman.  The  enjoyment  of  the  day 
gave  him  a  thrill  of  surprise.  He  was 
already  dropping  the  viewpoint  of  Dr. 
Joshua  Wream  for  Dean  Fenneben's  angle 
of  vision.  And  in  these  picturesque  sur 
roundings  he  forgot  about  the  weather  and 
the  prudence  of  getting  home  early. 

"Throw  that  log  on  the  fire,  Vic.  It  be 
gins  to  look  spooky  back  here.  I  Ve  just 
had  my  ear  to  the  ground  and  I  heard  an 
awful  roaring  somewhere."  Trench,  who 


68  A  Master's  Degree 

had  been  sprawling  lazily  in  the  shadows, 
now  declared,  "  Say,  I  'd  hate  to  be  penned 
into  this  place  so  I  could  n't  get  out.  There 's 
no  skinning  up  that  rock  wall  even  if  a  fel 
low  could  swim  the  river,  and  I  can't,"  and 
the  big  guard  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  again. 

"What's  that  old  story  about  the  Kicka- 
poos  here?"  somebody  asked.  "Dennie 
Saxon  knows  it.  Tell  us  about  it,  Dennie, 
and  then  'we'll  all  go  home."  The  last 
words  were  half-sung. 

"  Be  swift,  Dennie,  be  quite  swift.  I 
heard  that  noise  again.  I'm  afraid  it's  a 
stampede  of  wild  horses."  Trench,  who  had 
had  his  ear  to  the  ground,  sat  up  suddenly. 
But  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him. 

"Come,  Denmark  Saxon,  let's  close  the 
day  in  song  and  story.  You  tell  the  story 
and  then  I  '11  sing  the  song,"  somebody 
declared. 

"  Aw-w-w ! "  a  prolonged  chorus.  "  Make 
your  story  long,  Dennie;  make  it  lengthy." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,  Dennie.  I  tell  you  this 
ground  is  shaking.  I  feel  it,"  Trench  in 
sisted. 

"  Say,  who 's  got  the  bromo-seltzer?  The 
right  guard's  supper  isn't  treating  him 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  69 

right.  Go  ahead,  Dennie,"  the  crowd 
urged. 

They  were  all  in  a  circle  about  the  fire. 
Its  flickering  glow  lighted  Vic  Burleigh's 
rugged  face,  and  gleamed  in  his  auburn 
hair.  Elinor  sat  between  him  and  Vincent 
Burgess.  Dennie  was  just  beyond  Vincent, 
who  noted  incidentally  the  play  of  light  and 
shadow  on  the  blowsy  ripples  of  her  hair 
that  night  and  remembered  it  all  on  a  day 
long  afterward. 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  Dennie  began, 
"  there  was  a  beautiful  Kickapoo  Indian 
maiden- 

"Yep,  any  Kickapoo's  a  beaut.  Hurry 
up,  Dennie.  I  hear  something  coming."  It 
was  the  big  lazy  guard  again. 

"Oh!  Vic  Burleigh,  sit  on  his  prostrate 
form.  Go  on,  Dennie,"  the  company  in 
sisted,  and  she  continued. 

"  Her  name  was  The  Fawn  of  the  Morn 
ing  Light,  her  best  lover  was  Swift  Elk." 

"  You  be  Mrs.  Swift  Elk—"  but  Vic  Bur 
leigh's  arm  about  Trench's  throat  choked 
his  words. 

"And  there  was  a  wily  Sioux,  named  Red 
Fox  who  loved  the  Fawn  and  wanted  her 
to  marry  him.  She  wouldn't  do  it.  The 


jo  A  Master 's  Degree 

Kickapoos  were  heap-big  grafters,  and  they 
had  this  old  Corral  full  of  ponies  and  junk 
they  had  relieved  other  tribes  of  caring  for. 
And  the  only  way  to  get  in  here,  besides 
falling  over  the  bluff  and  becoming  a  pin 
cushion  for  poisoned  arrows,  was  to  come 
in  by  the  shallows  in  the  river  where  the 
ford  is  now  above  old  Lagonda's  pool,  and 
most  Indians  needed  a  diagram  for  that." 
Although  Dennie  spoke  lightly,  she  shud 
dered  a  little  at  the  thought,  and  the  whole 
company  grew  graver. 

"An  Indian  does  n't  forget.  So,  Red  Fox, 
who  had  sworn  to  have  The  Fawn,  came 
down  here  with  hundreds  of  Sioux  who 
wanted  the  ponies  the  Kickapoos  had  stolen, 
as  Red  Fox  wanted  Swift  Elk's  girl.  The 
Kickapoos  wouldn't  give  up  the  ponies  and 
Swift  Elk  wouldn't  give  up  The  Fawn.  So 
the  siege  began.  Right  where  we  are  so 
safe  and  peaceful  tonight  those  Kickapoos 
fought,  and  starved,  and  died,  while  the 
Sioux  kept  cruel  watch  on  the  top  of  that 
old  stone  ledge,  never  letting  one  escape. 
At  last,  after  hours  and  hours  of  siege,  The 
Fawn  and  Swift  Elk  decided  to  escape  by 
the  river  in  the  night.  A  storm  had  come 
on  suddenly,  and  a  cloudburst  up  the  Wai- 


The  Kickapoo  Corral  71 

nut  was  sending  a  perfect  surge  of  water 
down  around  the  bend.  The  two  lovers 
were  caught  in  its  sweep  and  carried  be 
yond  the  shallows  when  a  flash  of  lightning 
showed  them  to  Red  Fox  watching  on  the 
bluff  up  there.  At  the  next  flash  he  sent  an 
arrow  straight  through  Swift  Elk's  body 
and  into  The  Fawn's  shoulder,  pinning  the 
two  together.  The  Sioux  leaped  into  the 
stream  to  save  the  girl  he  loved,  but  the 
heavy  current  swept  them  toward  the  whirl 
pool,  and  before  they  could  prevent  the 
dying  and  wounded  and  rescuing  were  all 
caught  by  the  fatal  suction.  Then  the  Sioux 
warriors  rushed  in  from  all  sides,  upstream, 
down  the  bluff  from  west  prairie,  and  over 
the  Corral,  and  slaughtered  every  Kickapoo 
here.  Their  fierce  yells  and  the  shrieks  of 
the  squaws  and  pappooses,  the  pounding  of 
horses'  hoofs  in  the  stampede  of  hundreds 
of  ponies,  the  roar  of  the  river,  the  wrath 
of  the  storm  made  a  scene  this  old  Corral 
will  never  see  again."  Dennie  paused. 

"  I  think  I  hear  something  like  it,  right 
now,"  came  Trench's  irrepressible  voice 
from  the  shadows  in  the  edge  of  the  circle. 
But  nobody  heeded  it. 

And  all  the  while  from  far  across  the 


72  A  Master's  Degree 

west  prairie  the  stormcloud  was  rolling  in, 
black  and  angry,  blowing  its  hot  breath  be 
fore  it,  while  from  a  cloudburst  upstream 
an  hour  before  a  great  surge  of  water  was 
rushing  down  the  Walnut,  turning  the  quiet 
river  to  a  murderous  flood.  But  the  high 
walls  hid  all  this  from  the  valley  and  the 
heedless  young  folk  took  the  full  time  limit 
of  their  holiday  in  the  sheltering  gloom  of 
the  old  Kickapoo  Corral. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  STORM 

Rock  and  moan,  and  roar  alone, 
And  the  dread  of  some  nameless  thing  unknown. 

—  LOWELL 

"*  HE  silence  following  Dennie's  story  was 
•*•  broken  by  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder 
overhead.  At  the  same  instant  the  black 
ness  of  midnight  lifted  itself  above  the  stone 
ledges  and  dropped  down  upon  the  Corral, 
smothering  everything  in  darkness.  A 
rushing  whirlwind,  a  lurid  blaze  of  light 
ning,  and  a  second  peal  of  thunder  threw  the 
camp  into  blind  disorder.  In  the  minute's 
lull  following  the  first  storm  herald,  there 
was  a  wild  scrambling  for  wraps  and  lunch 
baskets.  Then  the  darkness  thickened  and 
the  storm's  fury  burst  upon  the  crowd — a 
mad  lashing  of  bending  tree  tops,  a  blinding 
whirl  of  dust  filling  the  air,  the  thunder's 
terrific  cannonade,  the  incessant  blaze  of 
lightning,  the  rattling  of  the  distant  rain; 
and  above  all  these,  unlike  them  all,  a 
steady,  dreadful  roaring,  coming  nearer 
each  moment. 

73 


74 


Professor  Burgess  was  no  coward,  but  he 
had  little  power  of  generalship.  As  the 
crowd  huddled  together  under  the  swaying 
trees,  Trench  called  to  Burleigh: 

"There's  been  a  cloudburst  up  stream. 
The  roar  I  Ve  been  hearing  is  a  wall  of 
water  coming  down.  We've  got  to  get  out 
of  this." 

Then  above  all  the  crashing  and  booming 
they  heard  Vic  Burleigh's  voice: 

"  Every  fellow  take  a  girl  and  run  for  the 
ford.  Come  on!" 

In  the  darkness,  each  boy  caught  the  arm 
of  the  girl  nearest  him  and  made  a  dash  for 
the  ford.  A  flash  of  lightning  showed  Bur 
leigh  that  the  white-faced  girl  clinging  to 
his  arm  was  Elinor  Wream.  After  that,  the 
storm  was  a  plaything  for  him. 

The  first  to  reach  the  ford  were  Vincent 
Burgess  and  Dennie  Saxon.  Dennie  was 
sure-footed  and  she  knew  by  instinct  where 
to  find  the  shallows.  But  the  river  was  ris 
ing  rapidly  and  the  waters  were  black  and 
angry  under  the  lightning's  glitter. 

As  the  crowd  held  back  Vic  shouted : 

"  You  '11  have  to  wade.  It 's  not  very  deep 
yet.  Professor,  you  must  cross  first,  and 
count  'em  as  they  come.  Go  quick!  One  at 


The  Storm  75 

a  time.  The  way  is  narrow.  And  for  God's 
sake,  keep  to  the  upper  side  of  the  shallows. 
Stand  in  the  middle,  Trench,  and  don't  let 
them  get  down  stream  below  you." 

They  were  all  safely  across  except  Vic 
and  Elinor,  when  Trench  cried  out: 

"  Send  your  girl  in  quick,  Burleigh,  and 
you  run  west.  The  flood  is  at  the  bend  now. 
Hurry!" 

"  Run  in,  Elinor.  Trench  will  take  you 
through,  and  I  '11  follow,  for  I  can  swim  and 
he  can't.  I '11  be  right  behind  you.  Run!" 

A  vision  of  the  whirlpool  and  of  Swift 
Elk  and  The  Fawn  flashed  into  Elinor's 
mind,  filling  her  with  terror.  Before  Vic 
could  push  her  forward,  Trench  shouted: 

"  It's  too  late.     Don't  try  it.     I  've  got  to 


run." 


He  was  strong  and  sure-footed  and  he 
fought  his  way  gallantly  to  the  further  side 
as  a  great  wave  swirled  around  the  curve  of 
the  river,  engulfing  the  shallows  in  its  mad 
surge.  When  he  reached  the  east  bank  the 
count  of  the  company  numbered  all  but  two. 

"  It's  Vic  and  Elinor,"  Trench  declared. 
'Vic  wouldn't  come  till  the  last,  and 
Elinor  was  too  dead  scared  to  trust  anybody 
else,  I  guess.  Nobody  could  cross  there 


A  Master's  Degree 


now,  Professor.  But  Vic  is  as  strong  as  an 
ox  and  he's  not  afraid  of  the  devil.  He'll 
keep  both  their  heads  above  water.  He 
wants  to  win  out  in  the  Thanksgiving  game 
too  much  to  get  lost  now.  Trust  him  to  get 
up  the  bluff  some  way,  and  back  to  town  by 
the  Main  street  bridge  like  as  not,  before 
we  get  there.  There's  no  shelter  between 
here  and  Lagonda  Ledge.  Let's  all  cut  for 
it  before  the  rain  beats  us  into  the  mud." 

The  deluge  was  just  beginning,  so,  safe, 
but  wet,  and  mud-smeared,  fighting  wind 
and  rain  and  darkness,  taking  it  all  as  a  jolly 
lark,  although  they  had  slidden  into  safety 
but  a  hand's  breadth  in  front  of  death,  the 
couples  straggled  back  to  town. 

Vincent  Burgess,  anxious,  angry,  and 
jealous,  found  an  unconscious  comfort  in 
Dennie  Saxon  in  that  homeward  struggle. 
She  was  so  capable  and  cheery  that  he  for 
got  a  little  the  girl  who  had  as  surely  drawn 
him  Kansas-ward  as  his  interest  in  types  and 
geographical  breadth  had  done.  It  dimly 
entered  his  consciousness,  as  he  told  Dennie 
good-bye,  that  maybe  she  had  been  the  most 
desirable  companion  of  the  crowd  on  such 
a  night  as  this.  He  knew,  at  least,  that  he 
would  have  shown  Elinor  much  more  atten- 


The  Storm  77 

tion  than  he  had  shown  to  Dennie,  and  he 
knew  that  Elinor  would  have  required  it 
of  him. 

The  light  from  the  hall  was  streaming 
across  the  veranda  of  the  Saxon  House,  a 
beam  as  faithful  and  friendly  at  the  border 
of  the  lower  campus  as  the  bigger  beacon 
in  true  college  turret  up  on  the  lime-stone 
ridge.  As  Burgess  started  away  the  worst 
deluge  of  the  night  fell  out  of  the  sky,  so 
he  dropped  down  on  a  seat  to  wait  for  the 
downpour  to  weaken.  He  was  very  tired 
and  his  mind  was  feverishly  busy.  Where 
could  Burleigh  and  Elinor  be  now?  What 
dangers  might  threaten  them?  What  ill 
might  befall  Elinor  from  exposure  to  this 
beating  storm?  He  was  frantic  with  the 
thought.  Then  he  recalled  Dennie,  the  girl 
who  was  working  her  way  through  college, 
whom  he  —  Professor  Vincent  Burgess, 
A.B.,  from  Harvard  —  had  escorted  home. 
How  cheap  Kansas  was  making  him.  The 
boys  and  girls  had  taken  Dennie  as  one  of 
them  today;  and  truly,  she  did  add  to  the 
comfort  and  pleasure  of  the  outing.  It 
seemed  all  right  down  in  the  woods  where 
all  was  unconventional.  But  now,  alone,  in 
how  common  a  grade  he  seemed  to  have 


78  A  Master's  Degree 

placed  himself,  to  be  forced  to  pay  atten 
tion  to  the  poorest  girl  in  school.  His 
cheeks  grew  hot  at  the  very  thought  of  it. 

In  the  shadows  beyond  him,  a  form 
straightened  up  stupidly: 

"Shay,  Profesh  Burgush,  that  you?" 

Dennie's  father,  half-drunken  still!  Oh, 
Shades  of  classic  culture!  To  what  depths 
in  social  contact  may  a  college  man  fall  in 
this  wretched  land! 

"Shay!  Is't  you,  or  ain't  it  you?  You 
gonna  tell  me?"  Old  Bond  queried. 

"This  is  Vincent  Burgess,"  the  young 
man  replied. 

"  Dennie  home?  "  the  father  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  came  the  curt  answer. 

"Who?  Who  bring  her  home?  Vic  Bur- 
leigh?" 

"  I  brought  her  home.  She  is  a  good  girl, 
too." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Burgess  resented  the 
shame  of  such  a  father  for  the  capable, 
happy-spirited  daughter. 

"Yesh,  Dennie's  good  girl,  all  right." 

Then  a  silence  fell. 

Presently,  the  old  man  spoke  again. 

"  Shay,  Profesh,  'd  ye  mind  doin'  some- 
thin'  forme?" 


The  Storm  79 

"What  is  it?"  Burgess  was  by  nature 
courteous. 

"  If  anything  sh'd  ever  happen  to  me,  'd 
you  take  care  of  Dennie?  Shay,  would 
you?" 

"  If  I  could  do  anything  for  her,  I  would 
do  it,"  the  young  man  replied. 

"  Somethin'  gonna  happen  to  me.  I  ain't 
shafe.  I  know  I '11  go  that  way.  But  you '11 
be  good  to  Dennie.  Now,  wouldn't  you? 
I'd  ask  Funnybone,  but  he's  no  shafer'n  I 
am.  No  shafer!  You  '11  be  good  to  Dennie, 
you  said  so.  Shay  it  again!" 

Bond  was  standing  now  bending  threaten 
ingly  toward  Burgess,  who  had  also  risen. 

"  I  '11  do  all  that  a  gentleman  ought  to 
do."  He  had  only  one  thought — to  pacify 
the  drunken  man  and  get  away.  And  the 
old  man  understood. 

"Shwear  it,  I  tell  you!  Lif  up  your 
right  hand  an' — an'  shwear  to  take  care  of 
Dennie,  or  I'll  kill  you!"  Bond  insisted. 

He  was  a  large,  muscular  man,  towering 
over  the  slender  young  professor  like  a  very 
giant,  and  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  cruel 
gleam.  Vincent  Burgess  was  at  the  limit  of 
mental  resistance.  Lifting  his  shapely  right 
hand  in  the  shadowy  light,  he  said  wearily: 


80  A  Master  s  Degree 

"I  swear  it!" 

"One  more  question,  and  you  may  go. 
You  know  that  little  boy  Vic  Burleigh  takes 
care  of  here?" 

The  Professor  had  heard  of  him. 

"Vic  keeps  that  little  boy  all  right.  He 
don't  complain  none.  S'pose  you  help  me 
watch  um,  Profesh."  Then  as  an  after 
thought,  Saxon  added:  "Young  woman 
livin'  out  north  of  town.  Pretty  woman. 
She  don't  know  nothing  'bout  that  little  boy. 
Now,  honest,  she  don't.  Lives  all  by  herself 
with  a  big  dog." 

Jealousy  is  an  ugly,  suspicious  beast.  Vin 
cent  Burgess  was  no  worse  than  many  other 
men  would  have  been,  because  his  mind 
leaped  to  the  meaning  old  Saxon's  words 
might  carry.  And  this  was  the  man  with 
Elinor  in  the  darkness  and  the  storm.  Be 
fore  Burgess  could  think  clearly,  Saxon 
came  a  step  nearer. 

"  Shay,  where 's  Vic  tonight?  " 

"Across  the  river  with  Miss  Wream. 
They  were  cut  off  by  the  deep  water,"  Vin 
cent  answered. 

A  quick  change  from  drunkenness  to 
sober  sense  leaped  into  Bond  Saxon's  eyes. 

"Across  the  river!    Great  God!"    Then 


The  Storm  8 1 

sternly,  with  a  grim  set  of  jaw,  he  com 
manded:  "You  go  home!  If  you  dare  to 
say  a  word,  I  '11  kill  you.  If  you  try  to  fol 
low  me,  he  '11  kill  you.  Go  home !  I  'm  go 
ing  over  there,  if  I  die  for  it."  And  the 
darkness  and  rain  swallowed  him  as  he 
leaped  away  to  the  westward! 

Burgess  gazed  into  the  blackness  into 
which  Bond  Saxon  had  gone  until  a  soft 
hand  touched  his,  and  he  looked  down  to 
see  little  Bug  Buler,  clad  in  his  nightgown, 
standing  barefoot  beside  him. 

"Where's  Vic?"  Bug  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Burgess  answered. 

"Take  me  up,  I'se  told."  Bug  stretched 
up  his  arms  appealingly,  and  Burgess,  who 
knew  nothing  of  babies,  awkwardly  lifted 
him  up. 

"Tuddle  me  tlose  like  Vic  do,"  and  the 
little  one  snuggled  lovingly  in  the  Profes 
sor's  embrace.  "Your  toat's  wet.  Is  Vic 
wet,  too?" 

"Yes,  little  boy.  We  are  all  in  trouble 
tonight."  Burgess  had  to  say  something. 

"  In  twouble?  Umph  —  humph!"  Bug 
shut  his  lips  tightly,  puffing  out  his  cheeks, 
as  was  his  habit.  "  I  was  in  twouble,  and  I 
ist  wented  to  Don  Fonnybone.  He's  dood 


82  A  Master's  Degree 

for  twouble-ness.  You  go  see  him.  Poor 
man!"  and  the  little  hand  stroked  Professor 
Burgess'  feverish  cheek. 

"  If  you  '11  run  right  back  to  bed,  I  '11  do 
it,"  Burgess  declared.  "We  can  learn  even 
from  children  sometimes,"  he  thought,  as 
Bug  climbed  down  obediently  and  toddled 
away. 

Vincent  Burgess  went  directly  to  Dr. 
Lloyd  Fenneben,  to  whom  he  told  the  story 
of  the  day's  events,  including  the  interview 
with  Bond  Saxon.  He  did  not  repeat  Bond's 
words  regarding  Vic,  but  only  hinted  at  the 
suspicion  that  there  was  something  question 
able  in  the  situation  in  which  Vic  was 
placed.  Nor  did  he  refer  to  the  old  man's 
maudlin  demand  that  he  should  take  care  of 
Dennie  if  she  were  left  fatherless,  and  of  his 
sworn  promise  to  do  so. 

Burgess  felt  as  if  the  Dean's  black  eyes 
would  burn  through  him,  so  steady  was  their 
gaze  while  the  story  was  being  told.  When 
he  had  finished,  Lloyd  Fenneben  said 
quietly: 

"You  are  worn  out  with  the  excitement 
of  the  day  and  night.  Go  home  and  rest 
now.  I  Ve  learned  through  many  a  strug- 
gle,  that  what  I  cannot  fight  to  a  finish  in 


The  Storm  83 

the  darkness,  I  can  safely  leave  with  God 
till  the  daylight  comes." 

The  smile  that  lighted  up  the  stern  face 
and  the  firm  handclasp  with  which  Lloyd 
Fenneben  dismissed  the  young  man  were 
things  he  remembered  long  afterward.  And 
above  all,  he  recalled  many  times  a  sense 
of  secret  shame  that  he  should  have  felt 
degraded  because  of  his  association  with 
Dennie  Saxon  on  this  day.  But  of  this  last, 
the  memory  was  stronger  than  the  present 
realization. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  mad  waters  surged 
around  the  bend  in  the  river,  and  swept 
over  the  shallows,  Victor  Burleigh  flung  his 
arm  around  Elinor  Wream  and  leaped  back 
from  the  very  edge  of  doom. 

"We  must  climb  the  bluff  again.  Be  a 
good  Indian!"  he  cried,  groping  for  a  foot 
ing. 

Climbing  the  west  bluff  by  daylight  for 
the  sake  of  adventure  was  very  unlike  this 
struggle  in  the  darkness  to  escape  the  widen 
ing  river,  with  a  wind-driven  torrent  of  rain 
sweeping  down  the  land  behind  the  first 
storm-fury,  and  Elinor  Wream  clung  to  her 
companion's  arm  almost  helpless  with  fear. 


84  A  Master's  Degree 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  ever  get  us  out?" 
she  asked,  as  the  limestone  ledge  blocked  the 
way. 

"  Do  you  know  what  my  mother  named 
me?  "  The  carelessness  of  the  tone  was  sur 
prising. 

"  Victor! "  she  replied, 

"Then  don't  forget  it,"  Burleigh  said. 
"It's  a  dreadfully  rough  way  before  us, 
little  girl,  but  we'll  soon  be  safe  from  the 
river.  Don't  mind  this  little  bit  of  a  storm, 
and  you'll  get  personally  conducted  into 
Lagonda  Ledge  before  midnight." 

In  her  sheltered  life,  Elinor  had  never 
known  anything  half  so  dreadful  as  this 
storm  and  darkness  and  booming  flood,  but 
the  fearlessness  of  the  strong  man  beside  her 
inspired  her  to  do  her  best.  It  was  only 
two  hours  since  they  were  here  before.  How 
could  she  know  that  these  two  hours  had 
marked  the  crisis  of  a  lifetime  for  Victor 
Burleigh.  With  a  friendly  little  pressure 
on  his  arm,  she  said  bravely: 

"  I  'd  rather  be  here  with  you  than  over 
the  river  with  anybody  else.  I  feel  safer 
here." 

Vic  knew  she  meant  only  to  be  courteous, 
but  the  words  were  comforting.  On  the 


The  Storm  85 

crest  of  the  ledge  the  fierceness  of  the  storm 
was  revealed.  Great  sheets  of  wind-blown 
rain  were  flung  athwart  the  landscape,  and 
the  utter  blackness  that  followed  the  light 
ning's  glare,  and  the  roaring  of  the  wind  and 
river  were  appalling. 

In  all  this  tumult,  away  to  the  northeast, 
the  beacon  light  above  the  Sunrise  dome  was 
cutting  the  darkness  with  a  steady  beam. 

"  See  that  light,  Elinor?  We  are  not  lost. 
We  must  get  up  stream  a  little  way.  Then 
we'll  find  the  bridge,  all  right.  The  crowd 
will  get  home  ahead  of  us,  because  this  is 
the  rough  side  of  the  river." 

"Oh,  what  a  comfort  a  light  can  be!" 
Elinor  murmured  as  she  looked  up  and 
caught  the  welcome  gleam. 

As  they  hurried  along,  the  Sunrise  light 
suddenly  disappeared  and  they  found  them 
selves  descending  a  rough  downward  way. 
Presently  there  were  rock  walls  on  either 
side  hemming  them  in  a  narrow  crevice  in 
the  ledges.  Then  the  rain  ceased  and  Vic 
knew  they  had  slidden  down  into  a  rock- 
covered  fissure,  that  they  were  getting 
underground.  They  tried  to  turn  back, 
but  the  up-climb  was  impossible,  and  in  the 
darkness  they  could  reach  nothing  but  the 


86  A  Master's  Degree 

sharp  ledge  of  the  cliff  sheer  above  the 
raging  river.  Entrapped  and  bewildered, 
Vic  felt  cautiously  about;  but  the  only  cer 
tain  things  were  the  straight  bluff  overhang 
ing  the  flood,  and  the  cavernous  way  lead 
ing  downward;  while  the  same  deluge  that 
was  keeping  Vincent  Burgess  storm-staid 
on  the  veranda  of  the  Saxon  House,  was 
beating  mercilessly  down  on  Elinor  Wream. 

"We  can't  stay  here  and  be  threshed  to 
pieces,"  Vic  cried.  "This  crack  is  drier, 
anyhow,  and  it  must  lead  to  somewhere." 

It  did  lead  to  what  seemed  to  Elinor  an 
endless  length  of  hideous  uncertainty,  until 
Vic  suddenly  lost  his  footing  and  plunged 
headlong  down  somewhere  into  the  black 
ness  of  darkness.  Elinor  shrieked  in  terror 
and  sank  down  limply  on  the  stone  floor  of 
the  crevice. 

"All  a  bluff,"  Vic  called  up  cheerily,  in 
the  same  startlingly  deep  sweet  voice  that 
had  caught  Elinor's  ear  on  the  Septem 
ber  afternoon  before  the  door  of  Sunrise, 
and  out  in  the  edge  of  her  consciousness  the 
thought  played  in  again,  "  I  'd  rather  be 
here  with  you  than  over  the  river  with  any 
body  else.  I  feel  safer  here." 

"  Slide  down,  Elinor.    I  '11  catch  you.    It 


The  Storm  87 

is  n't  very  far,  and  there 's  a  little  light  some 
where." 

Elinor  slipped  blindly  down  the  side  of 
the  rock  into  Vic  Burleigh's  outstretched 
arms.  As  he  set  her  on  her  feet,  somehow, 
the  little  light  failed.  In  all  their  struggle, 
this  part  of  the  way  seemed  the  darkest,  the 
chillest,  the  most  dangerous,  and  a  sudden 
sense  of  a  presence  hidden  nearby  possessed 
them  both,  as  they  came  against  a  blind  wall. 
A  stouter  heart  than  Vic  Burleigh's  might 
well  have  quailed  now.  The  two  were  lost 
underground.  What  deeper  cavern  might 
yawn  beyond  them?  What  length  of  dead 
wall  might  bar  their  way?  And  more  terri 
fying  still,  was  the  growing  sense  of  a  human 
presence,  a  human  menace,  an  unseen 
treachery.  As  Vic  felt  his  way  along  the 
stone,  his  hand  closed  over  something  thrust 
into  a  little  niche,  shoulder-high  in  the  wall. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  small  pitcher  of  unique 
pattern,  solid  silver  by  its  weight.  Was  it 
thw  booty  of  some  dead  and  forgotten  robber 
chief,  the  buried  treasure  of  some  old  Kick- 
apoo  raiding  tragedy,  or  the  loot  of  a  living 
outlaw? 

Vic  thought  he  felt  the  outline  of  a  let 
ter  graven  in  heavy  relief  on  the  smooth 


88  A  Master's  Degree 

side,  and,  for  a  reason  of  his  own,  dropped 
the  thing.  Mercifully,  he  did  not  cry  out 
at  the  discovery,  but  Elinor  felt  his  hand  on 
her  arm  grow  chill. 

A  dazzling  glare,  token  of  the  passing  of 
the  storm's  fireworks,  outlined  an  irregular 
opening  in  the  wall  before  them,  revealing 
at  the  same  time  a  large  room  beyond  the 
wall. 

"  Here 's  the  hole  where  we  get  out  of  this 
trap,  Elinor  Wream.  If  such  a  big  light 
ning  like  that  can  get  in,  we  can  get  out," 
Vic  cried. 

He  crawled  through  the  opening,  and 
pulled  her  as  gently  as  possible  after  him. 
Presently,  another  blaze  lit  up  the  night 
outside,  showing  a  cavern-like  space  thirty 
feet  in  dimensions,  with  a  rock  roof  above 
their  heads,  and  a  low  doorway  through 
which  the  light  from  the  outside  had  come 
in,  and  beyond  which  the  rain  was  beating 
tremendously.  Evidently  they  had  found 
a  rear  entrance  to  this  cavern. 

"We  are  past  our  troubles  now,  Elinor," 
Vic  said.  " There's  the  real  out-of-doors, 
and  I  feel  sure  of  the  rest  of  the  way.  This 
seems  to  be  a  sort  of  cave,  and  we  have 
come  in  kind  of  irregularly  by  the  back 


The  Storm  89 

door  or  down  the  chimney.  But  here  we 
are  at  the  real  front  door.  Shall  we  go  on?  " 

Elinor  leaned  wearily  against  the  wall, 
wet  and  cold,  and  almost  exhausted. 

"Let's  wait  a  little,  till  this  shower 
passes,"  she  pleaded. 

"You  poor  girl!  This  has  been  an  awful 
night,"  Vic  said  gently. 

Their  eyes  were  getting  accustomed  to 
the  darkness  and  they  saw  more  clearly  the 
outline  of  the  opening  to  the  outside  world. 
Suddenly  Elinor  shivered  as  again  the  near 
ness  of  a  presence  somewhere  possessed  them 
both. 

"Let's  go!  Let's  go!"  she  whispered, 
huddling  close  to  her  companion,  whose 
grip  on  her  arm  tightened. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  light  behind  him. 
Glancing  over  his  shoulder,  he  caught  a 
gleam  beyond  the  opening  in  the  rear  wall 
through  which  they  had  just  crept;  and  in 
that  gleam,  a  villainous  face,  with  still  black 
eyes,  looking  straight  at  him.  The  light 
disappeared,  and  he  heard  the  faint  sound 
of  something  creeping  toward  them.  Vic 
could  fight  any  man  living.  Nature  built 
him  for  that.  He  had  no  fear  for  himself. 
But  here  was  Elinor,  and  he  must  think  of 


90  A  Master's  Degree 

her  first.  At  that  instant,  the  doorway  dark 
ened,  and  a  form  slipped  into  the  cavern 
somewhere.  Oh,  wind  and  rain,  and  forked 
blue  lightning  and  the  thunder's  roar,  the 
river's  mad  floods,  the  steep,  slippery  rocks, 
and  jagged  ledges,  all  were  kind  beside  this 
secret  human  presence,  cruelly  silent  and 
treacherous. 

Victor  Burleigh  drew  Elinor  closer  to 
him,  and  whispered  low: 

"  Don't  be  afraid  with  me  to  guard  you." 

Even  in  that  deep  gloom,  he  caught  the 
outline  of  a  white  face  with  star-bright  eyes 
lifted  toward  his  face. 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  with  you,"  she  whis 
pered. 

Behind  them  stealthy  movements  some 
where.  Between  them  and  the  doorway, 
stealthy  movements  somewhere;  but  all  so 
still  and  slow,  they  stretched  the  listen 
ing  nerve  almost  to  the  breaking  point.  Sud 
denly,  a  big,  hard  hand  gripped  Burleigh's 
shoulder,  and  a  dead  still  voice,  that  Vic 
could  not  recognize,  breathed  into  his  ear, 
"Go  quick  and  quiet!  I'll  stand  for  it. 
Go!" 

It  was  old  Bond  Saxon. 

Vic  caught  Elinor's  arm,  and  with  one 


'I'm  not  afraid  with  you,"  she  whispered 


The  Storm  91 

stride  they  sprang  from  the  cave's  mouth 
up  to  the  open  ground  beyond  it.  Some 
thing  behind  them,  it  might  have  been  a 
groan  or  a  smothered  oath,  reached  their 
ears,  as  they  sped  away  down  a  narrow 
ravine.  The  rain  had  ceased  and  overhead 
the  stars  were  peeping  from  the  edges  of 
feathery  flying  clouds;  and  all  the  sodden 
autumn  night  was  still  at  last,  save  for  the 
gurgling  waters  of  a  little  stream  down  the 
rocky  glen. 

The  Sunrise  bell  was  striking  eleven  when 
they  reached  the  bridge  across  the  Walnut, 
and  the  beacon  light  from  the  dome  began 
to  twinkle  a  welcome  now  and  then  through 
the  dripping  branches  of  the  leafless  trees. 
A  few  minutes  later,  Victor  Burleigh 
brought  Elinor  safely  to  Lloyd  Fenneben's 
door. 

"We  made  it  in  before  midnight,  any 
how,"  he  said  carelessly. 

Elinor  looked  up  in  surprise.  The  ter 
rors  of  the  night  still  possessed  her. 

"What  a  horrible  nightmare  it  has  all 
been.  The  storm,  the  river,  the  rocks,  and 
the  darkness,  and  that  dreadful  something 
behind  us  in  the  cave.  Was  there  really 
anything,  or  did  we  just  imagine  it  all?  It 


92  A  Master's  Degree 

will   seem   impossible   when   the   daylight 


comes." 


Victor  looked  at  her  with  a  wonderful 
light  in  his  wide-open  brown  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  deep  voice.  "  It  will 
seem  impossible  when  daylight  comes.  But 
will  it  all  be  as  a  horrible  nightmare?" 

"  No,  no ;  not  all."  Elinor's  face  was  win- 
somely  sweet  "  Not  all,"  she  repeated.  "  It 
is  fine  to  feel  one's  self  so  safeguarded  as  I 
have  been.  I  shall  always  remember  you 
as  one  with  whom  I  could  never  again  be 
afraid." 

Burleigh  turned  hastily  toward  the  door, 
and,  having  delivered  her  to  the  care  of  her 
uncle,  he  bade  them  both  good  night. 

Dr.  Fenneben  looked  keenly  after  the 
young  man  striding  away  from  the  light. 
His  clothes  were  torn  and  bedraggled,  his 
cap  was  gone,  and  his  heavy  hair  was  a  mass 
of  rough  waves  about  his  forehead.  The 
direct  gaze  of  his  golden-brown  eyes  took 
away  distrust,  and  yet  the  face  had  changed 
somehow  in  this  day.  A  hint  of  a  new  pur 
pose  had  crept  into  it,  a  purpose  not  possible 
for  Dr.  Fenneben  to  read. 

But  he  did  note  the  set  of  the  head,  the 
erect  form  and  broad  shoulders,  and  the 


The  Storm  93 

easy  swinging  step  as  the  boy  went  whistling 
away  into  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

"A  splendid  animal,  anyhow,"  the  Dean 
thought.  "Will  the  soul  measure  up  to  that 
princely  body?  And  what  can  be  the  pur 
port  of  this  maudlin  mouthing  of  old  Bond 
Saxon?  Bond  is  really  a  lovable  man  when 
he's  sober;  but  he's  vindictive  and  ugly 
when  he's  drunk.  I  can  wait  for  develop 
ments.  Whatever  the  boy's  history  may  have 
been,  like  the  courts,  it's  my  business  to 
hold  every  man  innocent  till  he's  proven 
guilty;  to  build  up  character,  not  to  under 
mine  and  destroy  it.  And  destruction  be 
gins  in  suspicion." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GAME 

Truly  ye  come  of  The  Blood;  slower  to  bless  than 

to  ban; 

Little  used  to  lie  down  at  the  bidding  of  any  man. 

—  KIPLING 

T3ITTER  weather  followed  the  night  of 
•"  the  storm.  Biting  winds  beat  all  the 
autumn  beauty  from  tree  and  shrub.  Cold 
gray  skies  hung  over  a  cold  gray  land,  and 
a  heavy  snowfall  and  a  penetrating  chill 
seemed  to  destroy  all  hope  for  the  Indian 
Summer  that  makes  the  Kansas  Novembers 
glorious. 

Dennie  Saxon  was  the  only  girl  of  the 
party  who  was  not  affected  by  the  storm  at 
the  Kickapoo  Corral.  Professor  Burgess, 
who  narrowly  escaped  pneumonia  himself, 
and  who  disliked  irregular  class  attendance, 
took  comfort  in  the  sight  of  Dennie.  She 
was  so  fresh-cheeked  and  wholesome,  and 
she  went  about  her  work  promptly,  forget 
ful  of  storm  and  rain  and  muddy  ways. 

"You  seem  immune  from  sickness,  Miss 

94 


The  Game  95 

Dennie,"  Burgess  said  one  day  as  she  was 
putting  the  library  in  order. 

Under  her  little  blue  dusting  cap,  the 
sunny  ripples  of  her  hair  framed  a  face 
glowing  with  health.  She  smiled  up  at  him 
comfortably  —  a  smile  that  played  about  the 
edges  of  his  consciousness  all  that  day. 

"  I  Ve  never  been  sick,"  she  said.  "  It's  a 
good  thing,  too,  for  our  house  is  a  regular 
hospital  this  week.  Little  Bug  Buler  is  the 
worst  of  all.  He  took  cold  on  the  night  of 
the  storm.  That's  why  Victor  Burleigh's 
out  of  school  so  much.  He  won't  leave 
Bug." 

Vincent  Burgess  despised  the  name  of 
Burleigh  now.  While  Vic's  safe  escort  of 
Elinor  Wream  had  increased  his  popularity 
with  the  students,  Burgess  honestly  believed 
that  old  Bond  Saxon's  drunken  speech 
hinted  at  some  disgrace  the  big  freshman 
would  not  long  be  able  to  conceal,  and  he 
resented  the  high  place  given  to  such  a  low 
grade  of  character.  To  a  man  like  himself 
it  was  galling  to  look  upon  such  a  fellow  as 
a  rival.  So,  he  tightened  the  rules  and  ex 
acted  the  last  mental  farthing  of  Vic  in  the 
classroom.  And  Vic,  easily  understanding 
all  this,  because  he  was  frankly  and  fool- 


96  A  Master' s  Degree 

ishly  in  love  with  the  same  girl  whom  Vin 
cent  Burgess  seemed  to  claim,  contrived  in  a 
thousand  ways  to  make  life  a  burden  to  the 
Harvard  man.  Of  course,  Burgess  showed 
no  mercy  toward  Vic  for  absence  from  the 
classroom  while  he  was  caring  for  little 
Bug,  and  the  black  marks  multiplied  against 
him. 

Elinor  Wream  had  been  ill  after  the  night 
of  the  storm.  Vic  had  not  seen  her  since 
the  hour  when  he  left  her  at  Lloyd  Fenne- 
ben's  door.  He  knew  he  was  a  fool  to  think 
of  her  at  all.  He  knew  she  must  sometime 
be  won  by  Burgess,  and  that  she  was  born 
to  gentle  culture  which  his  hard  life  had 
never  known.  Besides,  he  was  poor.  Not 
a  pauper,  but  poor,  and  luxuries  belonged 
naturally  to  a  girl  like  Elinor.  The  storm 
of  the  holiday  was  a  balmy  zephyr  com 
pared  to  the  storm  that  raged  every  day  in 
him.  For  with  all  the  hopelessness  of 
things,  he  was  in  love.  Poor  fellow!  The 
strength  of  his  spirit  was  like  the  strength 
of  his  body  —  unbreakable. 

He  had  no  fear  of  pneumonia  after  the 
stormy  night,  for  he  was  used  to  hard 
knocks.  And  he  meant  to  go  again  by  day 
light  and  explore  the  rocky  glen  and  hidden 


The  Game  97 

ways,  and  to  find  out,  if  possible,  whose  face 
it  was  that  was  behind  that  cavern  wall, 
whose  voice  had  whispered  in  his  ear,  and 
what  loot  was  hidden  there.  For  reasons  of 
his  own,  he  had  mentioned  this  matter  to 
nobody.  But  the  cold,  wet  days,  little  Bug's 
illness,  and  the  hard  study  to  keep  up  his 
class  standing,  took  all  of  his  time.  Espe 
cially,  the  study,  that  he  might  not  be  shut 
out  of  the  great  football  game  of  the  year 
on  Thanksgiving  day.  Sunrise  was  stiff  in 
its  scholastic  requirements,  and  conscien 
tious  to  the  last  degree.  The  football  team 
stood  on  mental  ability  and  moral  honor,  no 
less  than  on  scientific  skill  and  muscular 
weight  and  cunning.  Dr.  Fenneben  watched 
Burleigh  carefully,  for  the  boy  seemed  to  be 
always  on  his  heart.  The  Dean  knew  how 
to  mix  common  sense  and  justice  into  his 
rulings,  so  the  word  was  sent  quietly  from 
the  head  office  —  the  suggestion  of  leniency 
in  the  matter  of  Burleigh's  absence.  Bur 
leigh  was  good  for  it.  It  lay  with  his  pro 
fessors,  of  course,  to  grant  or  withold  schol 
arship  ranking,  but  the  Dean  would  be 
pleased  to  have  all  latitude  given  in  Bur 
leigh's  case. 

Bug  was  better  now,  and  Vic  was  burning 


98  A  Master  s  Degree 

midnight  oil  in  study,  for  the  hours  of  prac 
tice  for  the  game  were  doubled. 

On  the  evening  before  Thanksgiving  the 
coach  called  Vic  aside. 

"  Everything  is  safe.  Only  one  report  not 
in,  but  it  will  be  in  tomorrow."  the  coach 
declared.  "  I  asked  Professor  Burgess  about 
your  standing,  and  he  says  your  grades  are 
away  above  average.  He 's  got  to  reckon  up 
your  absent  marks,  but  that's  easy.  All  the 
teachers  understand  about  that.  I  guess 
Dean  Funnybone  fixed  'em.  And  now,  Vic, 
the  honor  of  Sunrise  rests  on  you.  If  you 
fail  us,  we  're  lost.  Can  I  count  on  you  ?  " 

The  tiger  light  was  behind  the  long  black 
lashes  under  the  heavy  black  brows,  as  Vic 
shut  his  white  teeth  tightly. 

" Count  on  me!"  he  said,  and  turning,  he 
left  the  coach  abruptly. 

"  Hey,  there,  Burleigh,  hold  on  a  min 
ute,"  Trench,  the  right  guard,  called,  as  Vic 
was  striding  up  the  steep  south  slope  of  the 
limestone  ridge.  "  Say,  wind  a  fellow,  will 
you!  You  infernal,  never-wear-out,  human 
steam  engine.  I  'm  on  to  some  things  you 
ought  to  know.  Even  a  lazy  old  scout 
like  I  am  gets  a  crack  at  things  once  in  a 
while." 


The  Game  99 

"Well,  get  rid  of  it  once  in  a  while,  if 
you  really  do  know  anything,"  Vic  re 
sponded. 

"Say,  you're  nervous.  Coach  says  you 
spend  too  much  time  in  your  nursery;  says 
you'd  better  get  rid  of  that  little  kid." 

"  Tell  the  coach  to  go  to  the  devil ! "  Vic 
spoke  savagely. 

"  Say,  Coach,"  Trench  roared  down  from 
the  hillslope,  "Vic  says  for  you  to  go  to  the 
devil." 

"Wait  till  after  tomorrow,"  the  coach 
shouted  back,  "  and  I  '11  take  you  fellows 
along  if  you  don't  do  your  best." 

"  Now,  that's  settled,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I 
know,"  Trench  drawled  lazily.  "  First, 
Elinor  Wream,  what  Dean  Funnybone  calls 
'  Norrie,'  is  heading  the  bunch  that's  going 
to  shower  us  with  roses  tomorrow,  if  we 
win.  And  you  know  blamed  well  we'll  win. 
They  came  in  from  Kansas  City  on  the  lim 
ited,  just  now,  the  roses  did.  The  shower's 
predicted  for  tomorrow  P.  M." 

A  sudden  glow  lighted  Vic's  stern  face, 
and  there  was  no  savage  gleam  in  his  eyes 
now. 

"  Is  Elinor  well  enough  to  come  out  to 
morrow?" 


IOO  A  Master's  Degree 

He  had  been  caught  unawares.  Trench 
stared  at  him  deliberately. 

"  Say,  Victor  Burleigh."  He  spoke 
slowly.  "  Don't  do  it!  Don't  do  it!  It  will 
kill  a  man  like  you  to  get  in  love.  Lord 
pity  you!  and" — more  slowly  still — "Lord 
pity  the  fool  girl  who  can't  see  the  solid  gold 
in  the  rough  old  nugget  you  are." 

"What's  the  rest  of  your  news?"  Vic 
asked. 

"  I  gave  the  best  first.  Coach  tells  me  ab- 
so-lute-lee,  you  are  our  only  hope.  The 
hope  of  Sunrise,  tomorrow.  You  Ve  got  the 
beef,  the  wind,  the  speed,  the  head,  and  the 
will.  Oh,  you  angel  child!" 

"  The  coach  is  clever,"  Vic  said  carelessly. 

"Burleigh,  here's  the  rub  as  well  as  the 
Rub-i-con.  Dennie  Saxon's  wise,  and  she 
tells  me  —  on  the  side;  inside,  not  outside  — 
that  your  absent  marks  on  Burgess'  map  are 
going  to  cut  you  out  at  the  last  minute. 
Don't  let  Burgess  do  that,  Vic,  if  you  have 
to  kill  him.  Couldn't  we  kidnap  him  and 
drop  him  into  the  whirlpool?  Old  La- 
gonda's  interest  is  about  due.  Dennie  just 
stood  her  ground  today  like  a  cherub,  and 
asked  the  Hahvahd  Univusity  man  right  out 
about  it.  I  don't  know  how  she  got  the  hint, 


The  Game  101 

only  she's  in  all  the  offices  and  the  library 
out  of  hours,  you  know,  and  when  the  slim 
one  from  Boston,  yuh  know,  said  as  how  he 
had  to  stand  firm  on  the  right,  yuh  know, 
old  Dennie  just  says  straight  and  flat,  '  Pro 
fessor  Burgess,  I  'm  ashamed  of  you.  '  Den 
nie 's  a  brick.  And  do  you  know,  Burgess, 
spite  of  his  cussed  thin  hide,  we've  got  to 
toughen  for  him  out  here  in  Kansas ;  spite  of 
all  that,  he  likes  Dennie  Saxon.  The  oracle 
hath  orked,  the  sibyl  hath  sibbed.  But  say, 
Vie,  if  he  does  come  down  hard  on  you, 
what  will  you  do?" 

"  Come  down  hard  on  him,  and  play  any 
how." 

The  grim  jaw  and  black  frown  left  no 
doubt  as  to  Vic's  purpose. 

Late  November  is  idyllic  in  the  Walnut 
Valley.  Autumn's  gold  has  all  been  burned 
in  Nature's  great  crucible,  refining  the  land 
scape  to  a  wide  range  from  frosted  silver  to 
richest  purple.  Heliotrope  and  rose  and 
amethyst  blend  with  misty  pink  and  dainty 
gray,  and  the  faint,  indefinable  blue-green 
hue  of  the  robin's  egg,  and  outlined  all  in 
delicate  black  tracery  of  leafless  boughs  and 
darkened  waterways.  Every  sunrise  is  a 


IO2  A  Master  s  Degree 

revelation  of  Infinite  Beauty.  Every  mid 
day,  a  shadowy  soft  picture  of  Peace.  Every 
sunset  a  dream  of  Omnipotent  Splendor. 

On  such  a  November  Thanksgiving  day, 
the  great  game  of  the  season  was  played  on 
the  Sunrise  football  field,  which  all  the 
Walnut  Valley  folks  came  forth  to  see. 

By  one  o'clock  Lagonda  Ledge  was  de 
serted,  save  for  old  Bond  Saxon,  who  sat 
on  his  veranda,  watching  the  crowds  stream 
by.  At  two  o'clock  the  bleachers  were 
packed,  and  the  side  lines  were  broad  and 
black  with  a  good-natured,  jostling  crowd. 
And  every  minute  the  numbers  were  in 
creasing.  Truly  Sunrise  had  never  before 
known  such  an  auspicious  day,  such  record- 
breaking  gate  receipts,  nor  such  sure  prom 
ise  of  success.  The  game  was  called  for 
half-past  two.  It  was  three  o'clock  now 
and  the  line-up  had  not  been  formed. 
Even  the  gentle  wrangle  over  details 
and  eligibility  could  hardly  have  spun 
out  so  much  time  as  seemed  to  the  wait 
ing  throng  to  be  uselessly  wasted  now. 
Evidently,  something  was  wrong.  The 
crowd  grew  impatient  and  demanded 
the  cause.  Out  in  the  open,  the  two  squads 
were  warming  up  for  the  fray,  while  the 


The  Game  103 

officials  hung  fire  in  a  group  by  the  goal 
posts  and  talked  threateningly. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"When  will  the  freight  be  in?" 

"Merry  Christmas!" 

So  the  crowd  shouted.  The  songs  were 
worn  out,  the  yell-leaders  were  exhausted, 
and  the  rooters  were  hoarse. 

"Where's  Vic  Burleigh?"  somebody 
called,  and  a  chorus  followed : 

"Burleigh!  Burly!  Burlee!  Come  home! 
Come  home !  Come  home ! " 

But  Burleigh  did  not  come. 

"  Maybe  they  are  shutting  him  out," 
somebody  else  suggested,  and  the  Sunrise 
bleachers  took  fire.  Calls  for  Burleigh  rent 
the  air,  roars  and  yells  that  threatened  to 
turn  this  most  auspicious  college  event  into 
pandemonium,  and  the  jolly  company  into 
a  veritable  mob. 

Meantime,  as  the  teams  were  leaving  their 
quarters  early  in  the  afternoon,  the  coach 
said  to  Vic: 

"  Run  up  to  Burgess  and  get  your  grades, 
Burleigh.  It's  a  mere  form,  but  it  will  save 
that  gang  of  game-cocks  from  getting  one 
over  us." 


IO4  A  Master's  Degree 

In  the  rotunda  Vic  and  Vincent  met  face 
to  face,  the  country  boy  in  his  football  suit 
and  brown  sweater,  and  the  slender  young 
college  professor,  with  faultless  tailoring 
and  immaculate  linen.  Ten  minutes  before, 
Burgess  had  been  in  Dr.  Fenneben's  office, 
where  Elinor  Wream  and  a  group  of  fair 
college  girls  were  chattering  excitedly. 

"  See  these  roses,  Uncle  Lloyd."  Elinor 
was  holding  up  a  gorgeous  bunch  of  Amer 
ican  Beauties.  "These  go  to  Vic  Burleigh 
when  he  gets  behind  the  goal  posts.  Cost 
lots  of  my  Uncle  Lloyd's  money,  but  we  had 
to  have  them." 

Small  wonder  that  the  very  odor  of  roses 
was  hateful  to  Burgess  at  that  moment. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  a  minute?  "  Vic  said 
as  the  two  men  met  in  the  rotunda. 

Burgess  halted  in  silence. 

"The  coach  sent  me  after  your  statement 
of  my  standing.  We've  got  a  bunch  of 
sticklers  to  fight  today." 

"I  have  turned  in  my  report,"  Burgess 
responded  coldly. 

"So  the  coach  said,  all  but  mine.  I'm 
late.  May  I  have  my  report  now?"  Vic 
urged,  trying  to  be  composed. 

"  I  have  no  further  report  for  you."    It 


The  Game  105 

was  a  cold-blooded  thing  to  say,  but  Bur 
gess,  though  filled  with  jealousy,  was  con 
scientious  now  in  his  belief  that  Burleigh 
was  really  a  low  grade  fellow,  deserving  no 
leniency  nor  recognition. 

"  But  you  haven't  given  me  any  standing 
yet,  the  coach  says."  Vic's  voice  was  dead 
calm. 

"  I  have  no  standing  to  give  you.  You 
are  below  grade." 

Vic's  eyes  blazed.  "You  dog!"  was  all 
he  could  say. 

"Now,  see  here,  Burleigh,  there's  no 
need  to  act  any  ruder  than  you  can  help." 
Burleigh  did  not  move,  nor  did  he  take  his 
yellow  brown  eyes  from  his  instructor's  face. 
"What  have  you  to  say  further?  I  thought 
you  were  in  a  hurry."  Burgess  d.id  not 
really  mean  a  taunt  in  the  last  words. 

"  I  have  this  to  say."  Victor  Burleigh's 
voice  had  a  menace  in  its  depth  and  power. 
"You  have  done  this  infamous  thing,  not 
because  I  deserve  it,  but  because  you  hate 
me  on  account  of  a  girl  —  Elinor  Wream." 

"Stop!"  Vincent  Burgess  commanded. 
"  I  forbid  you  to  mention  her  name.  You, 
who  come  in  here  from  some  barren,  pov 
erty-stricken  prairie  home,  where  good 


106  A  Master's  Degree 

breeding  is  unknown.  You,  to  presume  to 
think  of  such  a  girl  as  Dr.  Fenneben's 
beautiful  niece,  whose  reputation  was  barely 
saved  by  old  Bond  Saxon  on  the  stormy 
night  after  the  holiday.  You,  who  are 
forced  for  some  reason  to  care  for  an  un 
known  child.  You,  whose  true  character 
will  soon  be  fully  known  here  —  if  this  is 
what  you  have  to  say,  you  may  go,"  he  added 
with  an  imperious  wave  of  the  hand. 

The  meanness  of  anger  is  in  its  mastery. 
Burgess  had  meant  only  to  discipline  Bur- 
leigh,  but  it  was  too  late  for  that  now.  The 
rotunda  was  very  quiet.  Everybody  was 
down  on  the  field  waiting  impatiently  for 
the  game  to  begin.  Burgess  was  also  impa 
tient.  There  was  a  seat  waiting  for  him 
beside  Elinor  Wream. 

"  I  'm  not  quite  ready  to  go" — Vic's  fierce 
voice  filled  the  rotunda — "because  you  are 
going  to  write  my  credentials  for  this  game, 
and  you  '11  do  it  quick,  or  beg  for  mercy." 

"  I  refuse  to  consider  a  word  you  say." 
Burgess  was  furious  now,  and  the  white  face 
and  burning  eyes  of  his  opponent  were  un 
bearable.  "  I  will  not  grant  you  any  creden 
tials,  you  low-born  prize-fighter — " 

A  sudden  grip  of  steel  held  him  fast  as 


The  Game  107 

Vic  towered  over  him.  The  softened  light 
of  the  dome  of  the  rotunda,  where  the  Kan 
sas  motto,  "Ad  Astra  per  Aspera"  adorned 
the  stained  glass  panes,  had  never  fallen  on 
such  a  scene  as  this. 

"  See  here,  Burleigh,  you'll  repent  this 
unwarranted  attack,"  Burgess  cried,  trying 
to  free  himself.  "  Brute  force  will  win  only 
among  brutes." 

"  That 's  the  only  place  I  expect  to  use  it," 
Vic  retorted,  tightening  his  grip.  "  No  time 
for  words  now.  The  honor  of  Sunrise  as 
well  as  my  honor  is  at  stake,  and  it's  my 
right  to  play  in  this  game,  because  I  have 
broken  no  laws.  I  may  have  no  culture 
except  that  of  a  prairie  claim;  and  I  may 
be  poor,  and,  therefore,  presumptuous  in 
daring  to  mention  Elinor  W  ream's  name  to 
you.  But "-  -  the  brown  eyes  were  a  blazing 
fire — "  nobody  can  tell  me  that  any  man 
must  rescue  a  girl  from  me  to  save  her  repu 
tation,  nor  that  any  dishonor  belongs  to  me 
because  of  little  Bug  Buler.  Uncultured, 
as  I  am,  I  have  the  culture  of  a  courage  that 
guards  the  helpless;  and  ill-bred,  as  I  may 
be,  I  have  a  gentleman's  honor  wherever  a 
woman's  need  calls  for  my  protection." 

Vic's  face  was  ashy,  for  his  anger  matched 


io8  A  Master's  Degree 

his  love,  and  both  were  parallel  to  his  won 
derful  physique  and  endurance.  In  his  fury, 
the  temptation  to  throttle  the  man  who  had 
wronged  him  was  gaining  the  mastery. 

"Vic,  oh,  Vic,  they're  waiting  for  you. 
Turn  on!  Don't  hurt  him,  Vic."  Bug 
Buler's  pleading  little  voice  broke  the 
momentary  stillness. 

Vic's  hand  fell  nerveless,  and  Burgess 
staggered  back. 

"Was  n't  you  dood  to  Vic?  He  would  n't 
hurted  you.  He  never  hurted  me."  The 
innocent  face  and  gentle  words  held  a 
strange  power  over  each  passion-fired  man 
before  him. 

Five  minutes  later,  Vic  Burleigh  walked 
across  the  gridiron  with  full  credentials  for 
his  place  on  the  team. 

The  last  man  to  enter  the  grounds  was 
evidently  a  tramp,  whose  slouched  hat  half- 
concealed  a  dark  bearded  face. 

As  Vic  Burleigh,  with  Bug  clinging  to 
his  finger,  hurried  by  the  ticket  window,  the 
crippled  student  who  sold  tickets  inside  the 
little  roofed  box  called  out: 

"  Come,  stay  with  me,  Bug,  till  I  can  go 
in,  too,  and  I  '11  buy  you  peanuts." 


The  Game  109 

Bug  studied  a  moment.  Then  with  a 
comfortable  little  "Umph  —  humph,"  puff 
ing  out  his  pudgy  cheeks  with  tightly 
tucked-in  lips,  he  let  go  of  Vic's  finger  and 
trotted  over  to  the  ticket  box. 

The  boy  let  him  inside  and  turned  to  the 
window  to  see  the  face  of  the  tramp  close  to 
it.  The  man  paid  for  a  ticket,  then,  lean 
ing  forward,  stared  eagerly  at  the  open 
money  box.  At  the  same  time,  the  cripple 
caught  sight  of  a  revolver  handle  in  a  belt 
under  the  shabby  coat.  Trust  a  college  boy 
for  headwork.  Instantly  he  seized  little 
Bug  by  the  shoulders  and  set  him  up  on  the 
shelf  between  the  window  and  the  money 
box.  Bug's  hair  was  a  mop  of  soft  ringlets, 
and  his  brown  eyes  and  innocent  baby  face 
were  appealing.  The  stranger  stared  hard 
at  the  child,  and  with  a  sort  of  frightened 
expression,  shot  through  the  gate  and  min 
gled  with  the  crowd. 

"  Great  protection  for  a  cripple,"  the  stu 
dent  thought,  as  he  locked  the  money  box. 
"  How  strong  a  baby's  hand  may  be  some 
times!  Vic  Burleigh's  beef  can  win  the 
game  out  there,  but  Bug  has  saved  the  day 
at  this  end  of  the  line.  That  tramp  seemed 
scared  at  the  sight  of  him." 


no  A  Master's  Degree 

il  Funny  folks  turns  to  dames,"  Bug  ob 
served. 

"Yes,  Buggie,  the  last  one  in  before  you 
came  was  a  young  woman  with  gray  hair, 
and  she  had  a  big  dog  with  her.  They 
don't  let  in  dogs,  so  he's  waiting  outside 
somewhere." 

The  last  man  who  did  not  go  in  was  Bond 
Saxon,  who  came  late  and  found  the  gates 
deserted.  But  lying  watchful  in  the  open 
way,  was  a  Great  Dane  dog.  Old  Bond 
hesitated.  It  was  his  lifetime  fault  to  hesi 
tate.  Then  he  trotted  back  home.  And, 
behold,  a  bottle  of  whisky  was  beside  his 
doorstep.  But  to  his  credit  for  once,  he 
resisted  and  smashed  the  bottle  to  bits  on  the 
stone  step. 

The  day  was  made  for  such  a  game. 
There  was  no  wind.  The  glare  of  the 
sun  was  tempered  by  a  gray  mist  creep 
ing  up  the  afternoon  skies.  The  air  was 
crisp  enough  to  prevent  languor.  The 
crowded  bleachers  were  inspiring;  the  sea 
son  was  rounding  out  in  a  blaze  of  glory 
for  Sunrise.  The  two  teams  were  evenly 
matched, 

And  the  stern  joy  that  warriors  feel 
In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel, 


The  Game  ill 

spurred  each  to  its  best  efforts.  It  was  a 
battle  royal,  with  all  the  turns  of  strategy, 
and  quickness,  and  straight  physical  weight, 
and  sudden  shifting  of  signals,  fake  plays, 
forward  passes,  line  bucks,  and  splendid  in 
terference,  flying  tackles,  speedy  end  runs, 
and  magnificent  defense  of  goals  with  lines 
of  invincible  strength  and  spirit. 

With  the  kick-off  the  enemy's  goal  was 
endangered  by  a  fumbled  ball,  and  within 
three  minutes  Trench  had  torn  a  hole  in  the 
defense,  through  which  the  Sunrise  team 
were  sending  Vic  Burleigh  for  a  touch 
down.  The  bleachers  went  wild  and  the 
grandstand  was  almost  shipwrecked  in  the 
noise. 

"Burleigh!  Burly!  Burlee!"  shrieked 
the  yell-leader  as  Vic  leaped  over  the  goal 
line  and  the  rooters  roared: 

The  Sunrise  hope! 
And  that's  the  dope! 
Never  quails! 
Never  fails! 
Burleigh !  Burly  I  Burlee ! 

A  difficult  kick  from  a  sharp  angle  sent 
the  ball  through  the  air  one  inch  wide  of 
the  goal  post,  and  the  bleachers  counted  five. 


112  A  Master's  Degree 

And  then,  came  the  forward  swing  again, 
the  struggle  for  downs,  the  gain  and  loss 
of  territory,  until  Trench,  too  heavy  for 
speed,  failed  to  break  through  the  interfer 
ence  quickly  enough  to  hold  a  swift  little 
quarterback,  who  slipped  around  the  end  of 
the  line,  and,  shaking  off  the  tackles, 
swooped  toward  the  Sunrise  goal.  The  last 
defense  was  thrown  headlong,  and  the  field 
was  wide  open  for  the  run;  and  the  quarter 
back  was  running  for  the  honor  of  his  team, 
his  school,  his  undying  fame  in  the  college 
world.  Three  yards  to  the  goal  line,  and 
victory  would  be  his.  All  Lagonda  Ledge 
held  its  breath  as  Vic  Burleigh  tore  through 
a  tangle  of  tackles  and  sprang  forward  with 
long,  space-eating  bounds.  He  seemed  to 
leap  through  ten  feet  of  air,  straight  over  the 
quarterback's  head  and  land  four  feet  from 
the  goal  with  the  quarterback  in  his  grip, 
while  a  Sunrise  halfback  out  beyond  him 
was  lying  on  the  lost  ball. 

The  bleachers  now  went  entirely  mad,  for 
from  the  very  edge  of  disaster,  the  tide  of 
battle  was  turned  into  the  enemy's  territory. 
Before  the  Sunrise  rooters  had  time  to  cease 
rejoicing,  however,  the  invincible  quarter 
back  was  away  again,  and  with  two  guards 


The  Game  1 13 

and  a  center  on  top  of  Burleigh,  now  the 
plucky  runner  broke  across  the  Sunrise  line, 
and  a  minute  later  missed  a  pretty  goal. 
And  the  opposing  bleachers  counted  five. 

The  second  half  of  the  game  was  filled 
with  a  tense,  fruitless  strife.  Five  points  to 
five  points,  and  four  minutes  of  time  to 
play.  The  struggle  had  ceased  to  be  a  turn 
ing  of  tricks  and  test  of  speed.  Henceforth, 
it  was  man  against  man,  pound  for  pound. 
Suddenly,  the  opposing  team  braced  itself 
and  began  a  steady  drive  down  the  gridiron. 
With  desperate  energy,  the  Sunrise  eleven 
fought  for  ground,  giving  way  slowly,  de 
fending  their  goal  like  true  Spartans,  dying 
by  inches,  until  only  three  yards  of  space 
were  left  on  which  to  die.  The  rooters 
shrieked,  and  the  girls  sang  of  courage. 
Then  a  silence  fell.  Three  yards,  and  the 
Sunrise  team  turned  to  a  rock  ledge  as  in 
vincible  as  the  limestone  foundation  of  their 
beloved  college  halls.  The  center  from 
which  all  strength  radiated  was  Victor  Bur 
leigh.  Against  him  the  weight  of  the  line- 
bucking  plunged.  If  he  wavered  the  line 
must  crumble.  The  crowd  hardly  breathed, 
so  tense  was  the  strain.  But  he  did  not  waver. 
The  ball  was  lost  and  the  last  struggle  of  the 


H4  A  Master's  Degree 

day  began.  Two  minutes  more,  the  score 
tied,  and  only  one  chance  was  left. 

Since  the  night  of  the  storm,  Vic  had 
known  little  rest.  His  days  had  been  spent 
in  hard  study,  or  continuous  practice  on  the 
field ;  his  nights  in  the  sick  room.  And  what 
was  more  destructive  to  strength  than  all  of 
this  was  the  newness  and  grief  of  a  blind, 
overmastering  adoration  for  the  one  girl  of 
all  the  school  impossible  to  him.  The  strain 
of  this  day's  game,  as  the  strain  of  all  the 
preparation  for  it,  had  fallen  upon  him,  and 
the  half  hour  in  the  rotunda  had  sapped  his 
energy  beyond  every  other  force.  Love,  loss, 
a  reputation  attacked,  possible  expulsion  for 
assaulting  a  professor,  injustice,  anger  —  oh, 
it  was  more  than  a  burden  of  wearied 
muscles  and  wracked  nerves  that  he  had  to 
lift  in  these  two  minutes! 

In  a  second's  pause  before  the  offense  be 
gan,  Vic,  who  never  saw  the  bleachers,  nor 
heard  a  sound  when  he  was  in  the  thick  of 
the  game,  caught  sight  now  of  a  great  splash 
of  glowing  red  color  in  the  grandstand.  In 
a  dim  way,  like  a  dream  of  a  dream,  he 
thought  of  American  Beauty  roses  of  which 
something  had  been  said  once  —  so  long  ago, 
it  seemed  now.  And  in  that  moment,  Elinor 


The  Game  n$ 

Wream's  sweet  face,  with  damp  dark  hair 
which  the  lamplight  from  Dr.  Fenneben's 
door  was  illumining,  and  the  softly  spoken 
words,  "  I  shall  always  remember  you  as 
one  with  whom  I  could  never  be  afraid 
again  " —  all  this  came  swiftly  in  an  instant's 
vision,  as  the  team  caught  its  breath  for  the 
last  onslaught. 

"  Victor,  for  victory.  Lead  out  Bur- 
leigh,"  Trench  cried  to  his  mates,  and  the 
sweep  of  the  field  was  on;  and  Lagonda 
Ledge  and  the  whole  Walnut  Valley 
remembers  that  final  charge  yet.  Steady, 
swift,  invincible,  it  drove  its  strong  foe  down 
the  white-crossed  sod  —  so  like  a  whirlwind, 
that  the  watching  crowds  gazed  in  bewilder 
ment.  Almost  before  they  could  compre 
hend  the  truth,  the  enemy's  goal  was  just 
before  the  Sunrise  warriors,  and  half  a  min 
ute  of  time  remained  in  which  to  play.  One 
more  line  plunge  with  Burleigh  holding  the 
ball!  A  film  came  before  his  eyes.  A  sud 
den  blankness  of  failure  and  despair  seized 
him.  In  the  grandstand,  Elinor  Wream 
stood  clutching  a  pennant  in  both  hands, 
her  dark  eyes  luminous  with  proud  hope. 
Amid  all  the  yells  and  cheers,  her  sweet 
voice  rang  out: 


u6  A  Master's  Degree 

"Victor,  Victor!  Don't  forget  the  name 
your  mother  gave  you ! " 

Vic  neither  saw  nor  heard.  Yet  in  that 
moment,  strength  and  pride  and  indomitable 
will  power  came  sweeping  back  to  him.  One 
last  plunge  against  this  wall  of  defense  up- 
reared  before  him,  and  Burleigh,  with  half 
the  enemy's  eleven  clinched  to  drag  him 
back,  had  hurled  himself  across  the  goal  line 
and  lay  half-conscious  under  a  perfect 
shower  of  fragrant  crimson  roses,  while  the 
song  of  victory  in  swelling  chorus  pealed 
out  on  the  November  air.  Half  a  minute 
later,  Trench  had  kicked  goal.  The  bleach 
ers  chanted  eleven  counts,  the  referee's 
whistle  blew,  and  the  game  was  done! 


SACRIFICE 


ffi    \5\    ffi 


The  air  for  the  wing  of  the  sparrow, 
The  bush  for  the  robin  and  wren, 

But  always  the  path  that  is  narrow 
And  straight  for  the  children  of  men. 

—  ALICE  GARY 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING 

Oh,  it  is  excellent 

To  have  a  giant's  strength,  but  tyrannous 

To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

—  SHAKESPEARE 

course,  there  came  a  day  of  reckoning 
for  Victor  Burleigh,  now  the  idol  of 
the  Walnut  Valley  football  fans,  the  pride 
of  Lagonda  Ledge,  the  hero  of  Sunrise.  But 
the  reckoning  was  not  brought  to  him;  he 
brought  himself  deliberately  to  it. 

The  jollification  following  the  game 
threatened  to  wreck  the  chapel  and  crack 
the  limestone  ledge  beneath  it. 

"Dust  off  your  halo  and  wrap  it  up  in 
cotton  till  next  fall,  Vic,"  Trench  whispered 
in  the  closing  minutes.  "  We  Ve  got  to  face 
the  real  thing  now.  We're  civilians  in  citi 
zens'  clothes,  amenable  to  law  henceforth; 
not  a  lot  of  athletic  brigands,  privileged 
outlaws,  whose  glory  dazzles  all  common 
sense.  Quit  bumping  your  head  against  the 
Kansas  motto  up  in  the  dome,  get  your  hob- 

119 


I2O  A  Masters  Degree 

nailers  down  on  the  sod,  and  trot  off  and 
tackle  your  Greek  verbs  awhile.  And  say, 
Vic,  tackle  yourself  first  and  forget  the 
pretty  girl  who  covered  you  with  roses  down 
yonder  five  days  ago.  It  was  n't  you,  it  was 
just  the  day's  hero.  She'd  have  decorated 
old  Bond  Saxon  just  the  same  if  he  had  wad 
dled  across  the  last  goal  line  then.  You're 
a  plug  and  she's  a  lady  born,  and  as  good  as 
engaged  to  Burgess  besides.  I  had  that 
straight  from  Dennie  Saxon,  and  you  know 
Dennie's  no  gossip.  They  were  far  gone 
before  they  came  West  —  the  Wream-Bur- 
gess  folk  were  —  stiffen  up,  Burleigh.  You 
look  like  a  dead  man." 

"  I  was  never  more  alive  in  my  life." 
Vic's  voice  and  eyes  were  alive  enough. 

"By  heck!  I  believe  it,"  Trench  ex 
claimed.  "  Say,  you  got  away  with  Burgess 
about  the  game.  If  you  want  the  girl,  go 
after  her,  too.  But  gently,  Sweet  Afton,  go 
gently.  Most  girls  want  to  do  the  pursuing 
themselves,  I  believe.  I  '11  block  the  inter 
ference,  if  necessary,  and  you  '11  be  the 
sought-after  yet,  not  the  seeking,  dear  child." 

A  circular  stairway  winds  from  the  Sun 
rise  chapel  down  the  south  turret  to  Dean 
Fenneben's  study,  intended  originally  as  a 


The  Day  of  Reckoning  121 

sort  of  fire  escape.  Some  enterprising  jani 
tor  later  fixed  a  spring  lock  on  the  upper 
door  to  this  stairway  (surprises  had  been 
sprung  through  this  door  upon  the  chapel 
stage  by  prankish  students  at  inopportune 
moments),  so  that  now  it  was  only  an  exit, 
and  was  called  by  the  students  "  the  road  to 
perdition,"  easy  to  descend  but  barred  from 
retreat. 

In  the  confusion  following  the  chapel  ex 
ercises  Vic  slipped  into  the  south  turret,  and 
the  lock  clicked  behind  him  as  he  hurried 
down  "the  road  to  perdition." 

The  door  to  Dean  Fenneben's  study  was 
slightly  open  and  Vic  heard  his  own  name 
spoken  as  he  reached  it.  He  hesitated,  for  a 
group  of  girls  was  surrounding  Elinor 
Wream,  discussing  him.  There  was  no  es 
cape.  The  upper  door  was  locked,  and  he 
would  rather  have  met  that  unknown  vil 
lainous  face  in  the  dark  cave  than  to  face 
this  group  of  pretty  girls.  So  he  waited. 

"Oh,  Elinor,  you  mercenary  creature!" 

"What  if  he  is  a  bit  crude?" 

"  I  don't  blame  you.  I  'm  daffy  about 
Professor  Burgess  myself." 

"He's  got  the  grandest  voice,  Vic  has!" 

"I  just  adore  Greek!" 


122  A  Master's  Degree 

"  I  think  Vic  is  splendid!" 

So  the  exclamations  ran. 

"  Now,  Norrie  Wream,  cross  your  heart, 
hope  you  may  die,  if  big,  handsome  Victor 
Burleigh  had  his  corners  knocked  off,  and 
he  was  sandpapered  down  a  little,  and  had 
money,  wouldn't  you  feel  a  whole  lot  dif 
ferent  about  him,  Norrie?" 

"  I  certainly  would.    I  couldn't  help  it." 

Norrie's  eyes  were  shining  and  her  cheeks 
were  pink  as  peach  blossoms.  To  Vic  she 
seemed  exquisitely  beautiful. 

"But  now?"  somebody  queried. 

"  Oh,  now,  she  '11  be  sensible,  and  the  Pro 
fessor  will  take  advantage  of  '  now.'  He 
won't  wait  till  it's  too  late.  Great  hat! 
there  goes  the  bell." 

And  the  girls  scuttled  away. 

Vic  came  in  and  sat  down  by  the  window 
through  which  one  may  find  an  empire  for 
the  looking. 

"  Burgess  was  right,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I  'm  not  only  ill-bred  on  the  outside,  I  'm 
that  way  clear  through.  A  disreputable 
eavesdropper!  That's  my  size.  But  I  didn't 
mean  it.  Fine  excuse!"  He  frowned  in 
disgust,  and  turned  to  the  window. 

The    Thanksgiving    weather    was    still 


The  Day  of  Reckoning  123 

blessing  the  Walnut  Valley.  Wide  away 
beyond  Lagonda  Ledge  rolled  the  free  open 
prairies,  swept  by  the  free  air  of  heaven 
under  a  beneficent  sky. 

As  Vic  gazed  his  stern  face  softened,  and 
the  bulldog  look,  that  he  had  worn  since  the 
night  of  the  storm,  relaxed  before  some  gen 
tler  mood.  The  brown  eyes  held  a  strange 
glow  under  the  long  black  lashes,  as  if  a 
new  purpose  were  growing  up  in  the  soul 
behind  them. 

"No  limit  out  there.  It's  a  free  land," 
he  murmured.  "There  shall  be  no  limit  in 
here."  Unconsciously  he  struck  his  breast 
with  his  fist.  "There's  freedom  for  such  as 
I  am  somewhere." 

"  Hello,  Burleigh,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?"  As  Dr.  Fenneben  came  into  the 
study  he  recalled  how  awkwardly  the  same 
boy  had  filled  the  same  chair  only  a  few 
months  before. 

"  I  've  come  in  to  be  sentenced,"  Vic  re 
plied. 

"  Well,  plead  your  case  first." 

If  ever  a  father-heart  beat  in  a  bachelor's 
breast,  Lloyd  Fenneben  had  such  a  heart. 

"  I  want  to  settle  about  Thanksgiving 
Day,"  Vic  said.  "  I  had  a  moral  right  to 


124  A  Master 's  Degree 

play  on  the  team  in  that  game,  but  I  had  to 
get  the  legal  right  by  force.  Professor 
Burgess  refused  to  permit  me  to  play  until 
I  made  him  do  it." 

Fenneben's  eyes  were  smiling.  "Why 
didn't  you  knock  him  down  and  fight  it  out 
with  him?" 

"Because  he's  not  in  my  class.  When  I 
fight  I  fight  men.  And,  besides,  I  was  in  a 
hurry.  If  I  'm  expected  to  apologize  to 
Professor  Burgess  or  be  expelled,  I  want  to 
know  it,"  Vic  added,  hotly. 

He  knew  he  would  not  apologize,  and  he 
wanted  the  sentence  of  expulsion  to  come 
quickly  if  it  must  come. 

"We  never  expel  boys  from  Sunrise. 
They  have  done  it  themselves  sometimes. 
Nor  do  we  ever  exact  an  apology.  They 
offer  it  themselves  sometimes.  In  either 
case,  the  choice  lies  with  the  boy." 

"What  do  you  do  with  a  fellow  like 
me?"  Vic  looked  curiously  at  the  Dean. 

"  If  a  boy  of  your  build  wants  to  meet 
only  men  when  he  fights,  we  take  it  he  is 
something  of  a  man  himself,  and  therefore 
worth  too  much  for  Sunrise  to  lose." 

Oh!  blessed  power  of  the  college  man  to 
lead  the  half-tamed  boy  into  the  stronger 


The  Day  of  Reckoning 


places  of  life;  nor  shove  him  to  the  danger 
ous  ground  where  his  feet  must  sink  in  the 
quicksand  or  the  mire! 

Vic  sat  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  man 
before  him. 

"  Your  confession  here  is  all  right.  Your 
claim  to  a  place  on  the  team  in  Thursday's 
game  was  just."  The  simple  fairness  of  Fen- 
neben's  words  made  their  appeal,  yet  it  was 
so  unlike  what  Vic  had  counted  on  he  could 
hardly  accept  it  as  genuine. 

"You  have  made  a  great  name  for  your 
self  as  an  athlete.  I  paid  for  the  roses.  I 
know  something  of  the  degree  of  that  great 
ness."  Dr.  Fenneben  smiled  genially.  "You 
played  a  marvelous  game  and  I  am  proud 
of  you." 

Vic  did  not  look  proud  of  himself  just 
then,  and  Lloyd  Fenneben  knew  it  was  one 
of  life's  crucial  moments  for  the  boy. 

"The  big  letter  S  cut  over  the  doorway 
out  there  stands  for  more  than  Sunrise,  you 
remember  I  told  you."  Fenneben  spoke 
earnestly.  "  It  means  also  the  strife  which 
you  have  already  met  and  must  expect 
to  meet  all  along  the  way.  But,  Bur- 
leigh"  —  Lloyd  Fenneben  stood  up  to  his 
full  height,  an  ideal  of  grace  and  power  — 


iz6  A  Master's  Degree 

"  if  you  expect  to  make  your  way  through 
college  with  your  fists,  come  to  me." 

"  You  ?  "    Vic's  eyes  widened. 

"Yes,  I  '11  meet  you  on  any  grounds.  And 
if  you  ever  try  to  coerce  a  professor  here 
again,  I  '11  meet  you  anyhow,  and  we  '11  have 
it  out."  Fenneben  was  stern  now. 

"  I  wouldn't  want  to  scrap  with  you,  Dr. 
Fenneben,"  Vic  stammered. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  am  too  much  of  a  gentleman  for 
that." 

"When  I  fight,  I  fight  men.  You  are  in 
my  class,"  Fenneben  quoted  with  a  smile  in 
his  eyes,  which  faded  away  with  the  next 
words. 

"  You  are  right,  Burleigh.  A  gentleman 
does  n't  want  to  use  his  strength  like  a  beast 
to  destroy.  The  only  legitimate  battle  is 
when  a  man  must  fight  with  a  man  as  he 
would  fight  with  a  beast,  to  save  himself,  or 
something  dearer  to  him  than  himself,  from 
beastly  destruction.  Get  into  the  bigger 
game,  my  boy,  where  the  strife  is  for  larger 
scores,  and  add  to  a  proud  athletic  record, 
the  prouder  record  of  self-control.  The 
prairies  have  given  you  a  noble  heritage,  but 
culture  comes  most  from  contact  with  cul- 


The  Day  of  Reckoning  127 

tured  men.  Don't  take  on  airs  because  you 
have  more  red  blood  than  our  Harvard  man. 
The  influence  of  the  great  universities,  di 
rectly  or  indirectly,  on  a  life  like  yours  is 
essential  to  your  usefulness  and  power.  You 
may  educate  your  conscience  to  choose  the 
right  before  the  wrong,  but,  remember,  an 
educated  conscience  does  not  always  save  a 
man  from  being  a  fool  now  and  then.  He 
needs  an  educated  brain  sometimes  by  which 
to  save  his  soul.  Meantime,  settle  with  your 
conscience,  if  you  owe  it  anything.  It  is  a 
troublesome  creditor.  I  '11  leave  you  now 
to  square  yourself  with  that  fellow  you  must 
live  with  every  day  —  Victor  Burleigh. 
We'll  drop  everything  else  henceforth  and 
face  toward  tomorrow,  not  yesterday?^ 
"  Lloyd  FeTTTTefJen  graspeerifie"  buyNliand 
in  a  firm,  assuring  grip  and  left  him. 

"If  Sunrise  means  Strife,  I'll  face  it," 
Vic  said  to  himself.  "As  to  money,  I  have 
only  my  two  hands  and  that  old  mortgaged 
quadrangle  of  prairie  sod  out  West.  But 
if  culture  like  Fenneben's  might  win  Elinor 
Wream,  God  help  me  to  win  it." 

Up  in  the  library  a  week  later  Professor 
Burgess  came  in  while  Dennie  Saxon  was 
putting  the  books  in  order.  Burgess  was 


ia8  A  Master's  Degree 

often  to  be  found  where  Dennie  was,  but 
Burgess  himself  had  not  noted  it,  and  no 
body  else  knew  it,  except  Trench.  Trench 
was  a  lazy  fellow,  who  always  lived  in  the 
middle  of  his  pasture,  where  the  feeding 
was  good.  That  gave  him  time  to  study 
mankind  as  it  worried  about  the  outer  edges. 

"  Don't  you  get  tired  sometimes,  Miss 
Dennie?"  the  Professor  asked.  He  was  not 
happy  himself  for  many  reasons,  and  two 
of  them  were  Elinor  and  Vic,  who  sepa 
rately,  and  differently,  seemed  to  wear  out 
his  energy.  Dennie  Saxon  never  wore  on 
anybody's  nerves. 

"Yes,  I  do,  often,"  Dennie  answered. 

"  Why  do  you  do  this?  "  he  queried. 

"To  get  my  college  education."  Dennie 
smiled,  hopefully.  "  I  like  the  nice  things 
and  nice  ways  of  life.  So  I  'm  working  for 
them." 

"  Elinor  has  all  these  without  working  for 
them,"  Vincent  thought. 

Then  for  no  reason  at  all  his  mind  leaped 
to  Dennie's  father  and  his  own  vow  on  the 
stormy  night  in  October. 

"What  would  you  do  if  your  father  were 
taken  from  you,  Miss  Dennie?"  he  asked. 

"I've  always  had  to  depend  on  myself 


The  Day  of  Reckoning  129 

somewhat.  I  would  keep  on,  I  suppose." 
Dennie  looked  up  bravely.  Her  father  was 
her  joy  and  her  shame. 

Well,  what  had  Burgess  expected?  That 
she  would  depend  on  him?  He  was  in  love 
with  Elinor  Wream.  Why  should  he  feel 
disappointed?  And  why  should  his  eye  fol 
low  the  soft  little  ripples  of  her  sunny  hair, 
giving  a  pretty  outline  to  her  face  and  neck. 

"  Could  you  really  take  care  of  yourself?  " 
He  was  talking  at  random. 

"  I  might  do  like  that  woman  out  at 
Pigeon  Place."  Burgess  didn't  catch  the 
pathos  in  Dennie's  tone.  He  was  only  a  man. 

"How's  that? "he  asked. 

"Oh,  live  alone  and  keep  a  big  dog,  and 
sell  chickens.  That's  what  Mrs.  Marian 
does.  By  the  way,  she  looks  just  a  little  bit 
like  you." 

"Thank  you!" 

"  She  was  at  the  game  on  Thanksgiving 
Day,  strange  to  say,  for  she  seldom  leaves 
home.  Did  you  see  a  pretty  white-haired 
woman,  right  south  of  where  we  were?" 

"Is  that  how  I  look?  No,  I  didn't  see 
her.  I  was  n't  at  the  game." 

"You  were  n't?  Why  not?  You  missed 
a  wonderful  thing." 


130  A  Master's  Degree 

And  Burgess  told  her  the  whole  story 
from  his  viewpoint,  of  course.  What  he 
was  too  proud  to  mention  to  Dr.  Fenneben 
or  Elinor  he  spoke  of  freely  to  Dennie,  and 
he  felt  as  if  the  weight  of  the  limestone 
ledge  was  lifted  from  him  with  the  telling. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  young  ruffian  was 
pretty  hard  on  me?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  Dennie  said,  frankly.  "  I 
think  you  were  pretty  hard  on  him." 

A  sudden  resolve  seized  Burgess.  He 
came  around  to  Dennie's  side  of  the  table. 

"  Miss  Dennie,  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing,  unimportant  in  itself,  but  better 
shared  than  kept.  On  the  night  of  our  picnic 
in  October  your  father,  who  was  not  quite 
himself—" 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  Dennie  said,  with 
downcast  eyes. 

"  Pardon  me,  Dennie,  I  would  not  hurt 
your  feelings."  His  voice  was  very  gentle, 
and  Dennie  looked  up  gratefully.  "  On  that 
night  your  father  made  me  promise  —  made 
me  hold  up  my  hand  and  swear  —  I  'm  easily 
forced,  you  will  think  —  to  look  after  you  if 
he  were  taken  away.  I  did  it  to  pacify  him, 
not  to  ever  embarrass  you.  He  also  told  me 
enough  about  young  Burleigh  to  make  me 


The  Day  of  Reckoning  131 

wish,  in  the  office  of  protector,  to  warn 
you." 

"Was  my  father  quite  himself  then?" 
Dennie  asked. 

"  Not  quite,"  Burgess  replied. 

"  Listen  to  him  some  day  when  he  is.  He 
is  another  man  then.  But,"  she  added,  "  I 
know  you  mean  well." 

In  spite  of  her  courage  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  shel 
tered  pleasant  life  the  real  spirit  of  sympa 
thy  woke  in  the  soul  of  Vincent  Burgess. 

"You  are  a  brave,  good  girl,  Dennie.  If 
I  can  ever  serve  you  in  any  way,  it  will  be  a 
privilege  to  me  to  do  it." 

Ten  minutes  after  they  had  left  the 
library  Trench,  who  had  been  stationary  in 
the  north  alcove,  slowly  came  to  life.  He 
had  been  posing  as  a  statue,  Winged  Vic 
tory  with  a  head  on,  he  declared  afterward 
to  Vic  Burleigh,  to  whom  he  told  the  whole 
story. 

"  Let  me  sing  my  swan  song,"  he  declared. 
"Then  me  for  Lagonda's  whirlpool.  I'm 
not  fit  to  live  in  a  decent  community,  a 
blithering  idiot  and  rascally  villain,  who  lies 
in  wait  to  hear  and  see  like  a  fool.  I  thought 
Dennie  knew  I  was  there  and  would  be  in 


132  A  Master  s  Degree 

to  dust  me  out  in  a  minute.  And  when  it 
was  too  late  I  turned  to  a  pillar  of  salt  and 
waited.  But  I  believe  I  '11  change  my  mind, 
after  all.  I  '11  live ;  and  if  Professor  Burgess, 
A.  B.  of  Cambridge-by-the-bean-patch, 
dares  to  make  love  to  Dennie  Saxon  —  on 
the  side  —  he'll  go  head  foremost  into  the 
whirlpool  to  feed  Lagonda's  rapacious 
spirit.  I  've  said  it." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LOSS,  OR  GAIN? 

We  cannot  make  bargains  for  blisses, 
Nor  catch  them  like  fishes  in  nets, 

And  sometimes  the  thing  our  life  misses 
Helps  more  than  the  thing  which  it  gets. 

—  GARY 

LINOR  WREAM  spent  the  holidays  in 
the  East  and  was  two  weeks  late  in 
entering  school  again.  Then  her  Uncle 
Lloyd  tightened  the  rules,  exacting  full 
measure  for  lost  time,  until  she  bewailed  to 
her  girl  friends  that  she  had  no  opportunity 
even  to  make  fudge  or  wash  her  hair. 

"Were  you  sorry  to  come  back,  then, 
Nome?"  her  uncle  asked  one  evening 
when  they  were  alone  in  their  library,  and 
Elinor  was  lamenting  her  hard  lot. 

"No,  I  want  to  be  with  you,  Uncle 
Lloyd." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  morris 
chair,  softly  stroking  his  heavy  hair  away 
from  his  forehead. 

133 


134  A  Master  s  Degree 

"  Looks  like  it,  the  way  you  hurried 
back,"  Dr.  Fenneben  said,  smiling. 

"But  Uncle  Joshua  isn't  well,  although, 
to  be  honest,  he  didn't  seem  a  bit  anxious  to 
have  me  stay.  He's  so  wrapped  up  in 
Sanscrit  he  has  no  time  to  live  in  the  pres 
ent.  Why  did  n't  he  ever  marry?  " 

"You  have  just  said  why,"  her  uncle  an 
swered  her. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  ever  marry.  Were  you 
ever  in  love?" 

The  library  lamp  cast  only  a  shaded  light 
over  Lloyd  Fenneben  lounging  comfortably 
in  his  chair.  To  a  woman's  eye  he  would 
have  seemed  the  picture  of  an  ideal  hus 
band. 

"  Yes,  I  was  in  love  once.  I  did  n't  marry 
because  —  because  —  I  didn't." 

"How  romantic!  Was  it  unrequited,  or 
money,  or  what?"  Norrie  asked,  eagerly. 

"Or  what,"  he  answered,  and  her  finer 
sense  made  her  change  the  subject. 

"  Say,  Uncle  Lloyd,  Uncle  Joshua  says  he 
wants  me  to  marry  " 

"What's  he  up  to  now?  Tell  me 
about  it." 

Norrie  was  charming  tonight  in  a  dainty 
red  evening  gown  that  set  off  her  pretty 


Loss,  or  Gain?  135 

face,  crowned  with  beautiful  dark  hair. 
Somehow  the  sight  of  her  made  deeper  the 
void  in  Fenneben's  life — since  that  love 
affair  of  his  own  long  ago. 

"Well,"  Ncrrie  went  on,  "Uncle  says 
I  'm  to  marry  rich,  because  my  papa  ex 
pected  me  to.  He  said  papa  had  money 
which  was  mamma's  and  he  used  it  for  col 
lege  endowments,  because  the  Wreams  love 
colleges  best,  and  that  it  was  his  wish,  and 
it's  Uncle  Joshua's  too,  that  I  should  marry 
well.  I  knew  I  came  honestly  by  my  love 
of  spending.  I  inherited  it  from  my  mother. 
Aren't  the  Wreams  all  funny  men  to  just 
see  nothing  in  money,  but  a  cap  and  gown 
and  a  Master's  Degree?  But  you  are  a  hu 
man  being,  Uncle  Lloyd.  You  wouldn't 
leave  a  daughter  dependent  on  her  uncles 
and  use  her  money  to  endow  colleges,  would 
you?"  The  white  arm  stole  round  his  neck 
affectionately,  as  Elinor  added  softly,  "  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  something  else.  Uncle 
Joshua  wants  me  to  marry  Professor 
Burgess." 

"  Do  you  want  to  marry  him?  "  Fenneben 
asked. 

"He  hasn't  asked  me  to  yet.  But  he  is 
such  a  gentleman  and  he  has  a  fortune  in  his 


136  A  Master's  Degree 

own  name,  or  in  trust,  or  something  like 
that.  It  would  please  the  Cambridge  folks, 
and  Uncle  Joshua  expects  me  to  consent,  and 
I  Ve  never  disobeyed  uncle's  wishes,  so  I 
couldn't  refuse  now.  And,  well,  if  he'll 
wait  till  I  'm  ready,  I  guess  it  will  suit  me." 

"He'll  wait  all  right,  if  he  wants  you, 
Norrie.  He  must  wait  until  you  graduate," 
the  Dean  declared. 

"Oh,  yes;  a  Wream  without  a  college 
diploma  is  like  a  ship  without  a  compass,  a 
mere  derelict  on  life's  sea.  I  'm  in  no  hurry 
anyhow,"  and  she  began  to  talk  of  other 
things. 

In  the  months  that  followed  Trench  had 
no  need  to  watch  Professor  Burgess  in  his 
relation  to  Dennie  Saxon,  for  Burgess  had 
no  thought  of  her  other  than  of  kindly  sym 
pathy.  That  is,  Burgess  thought  he  had  no 
thought.  He  knew  he  was  in  love  with 
Elinor,  knew  that  back  in  Cambridge  before 
he  was  graduated  from  the  university.  He 
had  been  told  that  Elinor  liked  luxurious 
living,  and  he  had  money — he  had  told 
Fenneben  as  much  in  their  first  interview. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  settled  now,  for 
Joshua  Wream  had  written  Burgess  the  kind 
of  letter  only  a  very  old  man,  and  an  ab- 


Loss,  or  Gain?  137 

stract  scholar,  and  a  bachelor  would  ever 
write,  telling  all  that  he  had  said  to  Norrie. 
He  made  it  obligatory  that  Fenneben  should 
first  give  his  sanction  to  the  union.  He  re 
quested  also  that  Burgess  would  never  men 
tion  this  letter  to  his  dear  young  niece,  and 
he  expressly  stipulated  that  Norrie  should 
graduate  at  Sunrise  first.  He  ended  with  an 
old  man's  blessing  and  with  the  assurance 
that  with  Elinor  safely  provided  for  his  con 
science  (why  his  conscience?)  would  be  at 
rest,  and  he  could  die  in  peace.  So  there 
was  smooth  sailing  at  Sunrise  for  many 
months.  Elinor  was  always  charming,  and 
Dr.  Fenneben  seemed  oblivious  to  the  situ 
ation,  least  of  all  to  putting  up  any  objec 
tion,  which,  according  to  brother  Joshua, 
would  have  blocked  the  game  of  love. 
There  was  time  now  for  profound  research, 
the  study  of  types,  seclusion,  and  the  ad 
vantage  of  geographical  breath  which  had 
brought  the  Professor  to  Kansas,  and  which 
he  heeded  less  and  less  with  the  passing 
days.  For  he  found  himself  more  and  more 
living  in  the  lives  of  the  students.  He  had 
been  ashamed,  once,  of  having  been  Dennie 
Saxon's  escort;  and  he  never  knew  when  she 
came  to  be  the  one  person  in  Lagonda  Ledge 


138  A  Master's  Degree 

to  whom  he  turned  for  confidence  and  aid 
in  many  things. 

Meanwhile  the  big  boy  from  the  western 
claim  was  as  surely  going  up  the  rounds  of 
culture  as  the  Professor  was  coming  down 
to  the  common  needs  of  common  minds,  and 
both  were  unconscious  then  that  back  of 
each  was  Dr.  Fenneben,  "dear  old  Funny- 
bone  "  to  the  student  body,  playing  each  man 
for  his  king  row  in  the  great  game  of  life 
fought  out  in  Sunrise-by-the-Walnut. 

Toward  Elinor,  Victor  Burleigh  seemed 
utterly  indifferent.  Even  Lloyd  Fenneben, 
who  had  caught  an  insight  into  things  on 
the  night  of  the  October  storm,  and  had  be 
gun  to  read  that  new  line  in  the  boy's  face, 
failed  to  grasp  what  lay  back  of  those  inno 
cent-looking,  wide-open  eyes,  whose  tiger- 
golden  gleam  showed  but  rarely  now.  Vic 
was  easily  the  most  popular  fellow  in  his 
class,  and  the  year  at  Sunrise  had  worked  a 
marvelous  change  in  him. 

"You  are  a  darned  smooth  citizen," 
Trench  drawled,  as  he  and  Burleigh  stood 
in  the  shade  by  the  campus  gate  on  the  clos 
ing  day  of  their  freshman  year. 

A  group  of  girls  had  been  bidding  the 
two  good-bye  for  the  summer.  As  Elinor 


Loss,  or  Gain?  139 

Wream,  who  was  the  last  one  of  the  com 
pany,  offered  her  hand  to  Vic  there  was  a 
look  of  expectancy  in  her  glance  which 
found  no  response  in  his  own  eyes.  As  he 
turned  away  with  indifferent  courtesy  to 
Trench,  the  big  right  guard  stared  hard  at 
him. 

"You  are  a — well,  any  kind  of  a  smooth 
citizen,  I  say,"  he  repeated. 

"What's  troubling  your  liver  now?"  Vic 
asked. 

Trench  did  not  heed  the  question,  but 
said,  slowly:  "And-the-big-noble-hearted- 
young-  fellow-  walked  -  in  -  and  -  out-  beside  - 
her-day-by-day,-and-she-never-knew-whose- 
face-haunted-his-dreams,-nor-ever-thought- 
how- the- touch- of -her- hand-thrilled- his- 
every- pulse- beat, -and-how-her-smile-was - 
the-light-of-his-soul.  And-he-grew-hand- 
somer- and- more-beloved- with- the- passing- 
seasons,-  and,-  lonely-  and-  longing,-  he-  grew- 
braver-  also  -  to  -  meet-  life's  -  battles,-  a-  splen 
did-manhood  — " 

A  sudden  clutch  on  Trench's  arm,  the 
blaze  of  the  old-time  fury  in  burning  eyes, 
as  Vic's  hoarse  voice  cried: 

"  For  God's  sake,  Trench,  get  out  of  my 
sight!" 


140  A  Master's  Degree 

"I  will,"  drawled  Trench.  "The  only 
friend  you  ever  had.  I  '11  carry  my  troubles 
up  to  Big  Chief  Funnybone.  Like  as  not 
he'll  sentence  me  to  tumble  you  through  the 
chapel  door  of  the  south  turret  down  the 
1  road  to  perdition.'  No  use  though,  you  go 
that  road  every  day.  Better  treat  me  right 
and  tell  me  all  your  troubles.  If  there  is 
any  cool  handle  to  take  hold  of  Gehanna  by 
next  to  Funnybone,  I  'm  the  one  fellow  in 
Sunrise  to  grab  onto  it." 

But  Vic  was  out  of  hearing. 

And  the  days  of  a  long,  hot  Kansas  sum 
mer,  a  glorious  autumn,  and  a  short,  nippy 
winter  swung  by  in  their  appointed  seasons. 
And  now  the  springtime  was  unrolling  in 
dainty  beauty  of  tender  green  leaf,  and 
growing  grass,  and  warm,  sweet  air,  and 
trill  of  song  bird.  College  students  philoso 
phize  little  in  the  springtime  of  their  sopho 
more  year.  Having  learned  all  that  books 
can  teach,  and  a  little  more,  they  seek  other 
pastime.  Nobody  in  Sunrise  except  Dr. 
Fenneben  took  the  time  to  remember  how 
stiff  and  ungenial  Professor  Burgess  was 
when  he  first  came  West;  nor  what  an  awk 
ward  gosling  Victor  Burleigh  was  the  day 
he  entered  Sunrise;  nor  that  once  it  could 


Loss,  or  Gain?  141 

have  seemed  just  a  little  odd  to  invite 
Dennie  Saxon,  a  poor  student,  daughter  of  a 
half-reformed  drunkard,  to  the  class  parties ; 
nor  that  even  Elinor  Wream,  "Norrie  the 
beloved,"  was  not  supposed  to  be  engaged 
to  Vincent  Burgess.  Supposed!  And  that, 
when  her  senior  year  was  well  along,  the  en 
gagement  would  be  openly  spoken  of  as  now 
in  her  sophomore  year,  it  was  quietly  ac 
cepted,  even  if  Professor  Burgess  was  often 
Dennie  Saxon's  escort.  That  was  because 
he  was  such  a  gentleman.  Nor  that  with  all 
these  changes  Trench  had  remained  the 
same  old  lazy  Trench,  the  comfortable  idol 
of  the  girls,  for  he  was  right  guard  to  all  of 
them,  and  cared  for  none.  And  they  never 
knew  till  afterward  that  for  all  the  four 
years  he  was  faithful  to  a  little  sweetheart 
out  in  the  sandy  Cimarron  River  country, 
to  whom  he  took  back  clean  hands  and  a 
pure  heart,  when  he  went  home  after  four 
years  of  college  life. 

None  of  these  things  were  noted  espe 
cially,  save  by  Dr.  Lloyd  Fenneben,  and  he 
wasn't  a  sophomore  nor  a  professor  in  love 
with  a  pretty  girl;  a  professor  learning  for 
the  first  time  that  sympathy  has  also  its  cul 
ture  value,  as  well  as  perfectly  translated 


142  A  Master's  Degree 

Horace,  and  that  the  growth  of  a  human 
soul  means  something  as  beautiful  as  the 
growth  of  a  complete  conjugation  on  an  old 
Greek  stem  from  an  older  Greek  root.  Fen- 
neben  had  learned  all  this  while  he  was 
chasing  about  the  Kansas  prairies  with  a 
college  in  his  vest  pocket. 

There  were  some  unchanged  things,  how 
ever,  which  Fenneben  only  guessed  at.  Vic 
tor  Burleigh  had  never  apologized  to  Pro 
fessor  Burgess  for  his  rude  attack,  unless  a 
certain  strained  dignified  courtesy  be  the 
mark  of  a  tacit  apology.  And  Burgess 
could  give  only  cold  recognition  to  the  big 
fellow  who  had  choked  him  into  submission 
and  had  gone  unpunished  by  the  college 
authorities. 

Between  these  two  Fenneben  guessed 
there  was  no  change.  But  he  did  not  grieve 
deeply.  There  must  be  a  personal  phase  in 
this  grudge  that  no  third  person  could 
handle.  It  might  be  a  girl  —  but  the  face 
of  the  returns  indicated  otherwise.  Mean 
while  the  college  was  doing  its  perfect  work 
for  Burleigh,  whose  strength  of  mind,  and 
self-control,  and  growing  graciousness  of 
manner  betokened  the  splendid  manhood 
that  should  rest  on  this  foundation.  While 


Loss,  or  Gain?  143 

the  spirit  of  the  prairie  sod,  the  benediction 
of  the  broad-sweeping  air  of  heaven,  and  the 
sturdy,  wholesome  life  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  freedom-loving,  broad-spirited 
men  and  women  —  all  were  giving  to  Vin 
cent  Burgess  a  new  happiness  in  his  work 
unlike  any  pleasure  he  had  ever  known 
before. 

Little  Bug  Buler,  now  four  years  of  age, 
had  changed  least  of  all  among  changing 
things  about  Lagonda  Ledge.  A  sweet- 
faced,  quaint  little  fellow  he  was,  with  big 
appealing  eyes,  a  baby  lisp  to  his  words,  and 
innocent  ways.  He  was  a  sturdy,  pudgy, 
self-reliant  youngster,  however,  who  took 
long  rambles  alone  and  turned  up  safe  at 
the  right  moment.  All  Lagonda  Ledge 
petted  him,  even  to  Burgess,  who  never  for 
got  the  day  in  the  rotunda  when  Bug's 
pitying  voice  had  broken  Burleigh's  grip 
on  his  neck. 

Bond  Saxon  had  not  changed,  nor  the 
white-haired  woman  of  Pigeon  Place  —  nor 
the  reputation  of  the  ravines  and  rocky 
coverts  for  hiding  law  breakers  across  the 
Walnut  River.  And  Fenneben  noted  often 
the  slender  blue  smoke  rising  where  nobody 
had  a  house. 


144  A  Master's  Degree 

It  was  an  April  day  in  the  Walnut  Valley, 
with  all  the  freshness  of  the  earth  just 
washed  and  perfumed  by  April  showers. 
The  sunshine  was  pale  gold.  There  was  a 
gray-green  filmy  light  from  budding  trees, 
and  the  old-time  miracle  of  the  grass  was 
wrought  out  once  more  before  the  eyes  of 
men.  The  orchards  along  the  Walnut  were 
faintly  pink,  and  the  eggs  in  the  robin's 
nest,  the  south  winds  purring  through  the 
wooded  spaces,  the  odor  of  far-plowed  fur 
rows  on  the  prairie  farms,  all  gave  assurance 
of  the  year's  gladdest  days.  From  the  Sun 
rise  ledge  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  was 
exquisite.  There  was  no  haze  overhanging 
the  earth  now,  and  the  Walnut  Valley  was  a 
picture  beyond  a  Master's  dream.  Victor 
Burleigh  sat  on  the  top  of  the  flight  of  steps 
leading  from  the  lower  campus,  looking 
lazily  out  with  dreamy  eyes  on  all  that  the 
earth  had  to  give  on  this  sweet  April  after 
noon. 

Presently  Elinor  Wream  came  around  the 
north  angle  of  the  building,  hesitated  a 
little,  then  walked  straight  to  the  steps. 

"Good  afternoon,  Victor,"  she  said. 

Burleigh  looked  up,  glad  then  of  his 
months  of  discipline  and  self-control.  A 


Loss,  or  Gain? 


sight  good  for  anybody  on  a  day  like  this 
was  this  college  girl  with  beautiful  dark 
hair  and  laughing  dark  eyes,  a  satiny  pink 
and  white  complexion,  and  a  slender  form, 
clad  just  now  in  dainty  pink  gingham  with 
faint  little  edgings  of  white  and  pale  green, 
all  stylishly  put  together  to  reveal  rounded 
arms,  and  white  neck,  and  dimpled  chin. 

"  Hello,  Elinor,"  Vic  said,  calmly,  mak 
ing  room  for  her  on  the  stone  steps.  "  Take 
a  seat." 

Elinor  sat  down  beside  him,  throwing  her 
hat  on  the  ground. 

"Whither  away?"  Vic  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you  presently.  I  want  to  get 
over  my  stage  fright  first." 

"All  right,  look  at  this  view.  I  '11  give  it 
to  you  if  you  like  it."  Vic  had  turned  to  the 
west  again  and  was  looking  away  toward 
the  dreamy  prairies  beyond  the  valley. 

Elinor  recalled  the  September  day  when 
the  bull  snake  lay  sunning  itself  on  this  very 
stone.  How  shy  and  awkward  he  seemed 
then,  with  only  a  deep  sweet  voice  to  attract 
favorable  attention.  And  now,  big,  and 
graceful,  and  handsome,  and  reserved  —  any 
girl  might  be  proud  to  have  his  regard.  Of 
course,  for  herself,  there  was  Vincent 


146  A  Master's  Degree 

Burgess  in  the  pleasant  inevitable  sometime. 
She  gave  little  thought  to  that.  She  was 
living  in  the  present.  And  in  the  wooing 
spirit  of  the  April  afternoon  Elinor  was 
glad  to  sit  here  beside  Victor  Burleigh. 

"What  time  next  month  do  we  have  the 
big  baseball  game?  "  she  asked.  "  The  game 
that  is  to  make  Sunrise  the  champion  college 
in  Kansas,  and  you  our  college  champion?" 
Vic's  lips  suddenly  grew  gray. 

"  Friday,  the  thirteenth  —  auspicious 
date!"  he  answered.  "  But  I  may  not  play 
in  it.  I  might  fail." 

"Oh,  we  must  win  this  game,  anyhow, 
and  you  never  do  fail.  Don't  forget  the 
name  your  mother  gave  you.  Do  you  re 
member  when  you  told  me  that?" 

"A  couple  of  thousand  years  ago,  wasn't 
it?"  Vic  asked,  smiling  down  on  her.  "If 
I  don't  play  Sunrise  needn't  fail,  even  for 
Friday,  the  thirteenth." 

"  But  it  will  fail  without  you.  You  pulled 
us  to  victory  a  year  ago  at  the  Thanksgiving 
game,  and  last  fall  the  Sunrise  goal  line 
wasn't  crossed  the  whole  season  with  *  Bur 
leigh!  Burly!  Burlee!'  for  a  slogan.  We 
must  win  this  year.  Then  it  will  be  a  com 
plete  championship:  football,  basket-ball, 


Loss,  or  Gain?  147 

and  baseball.  We  won't  do  it  though  unless 
we  have  'Burleigh  at  the  bat'." 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face  and  he  looked 
away  to  where  a  tiny  film  of  blue  smoke 
was  rising  above  the  rough  ledges  beyond 
the  river. 

"  I  'm  getting  over  my  stage  fright  now," 
Elinor  said,  the  pink  deepening  on  her  fair 
cheek,  "  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  want." 

"Command  me!"  he  said,  gallantly. 

"Well,  it's  awful,  and  the  girls  are  too 
mean  to  live.  But  they  are  getting  even 
with  me,  they  say,  for  something  I  did  last 
fall." 

"All  right."    Vic  was  waiting,  graciously. 

"A  lot  of  us  have  broken  some  of  the  rules 
of  the  Sorority  and  it's  decreed  that  I  must 
go  over  the  route  we  came  home  by  on  the 
night  of  the  storm  down  in  the  Kickapoo 
Corral.  They  are  having  a  ' spread'  down 
there  at  five  o'clock  and  we  are  to  get  there 
in  time  for  it,  going  by  the  west  side  of  the 
river,  and  they'll  bring  us  home.  They 
said  I  should  ask  you  to  go  with  me,  and 
if  you  would  n't  go  for  me  to  ask  Mr.  Trench 
to  go.  They  are  too  silly  for  anything." 

"Trench  was  executed  for  manslaughter 
at  two  forty-five  today.  It's  three  o'clock 


148  A  Master's  Degree 

now.  Let's  go."  He  lifted  her  to  her  feet 
and  stooped  to  pick  up  her  hat. 

"  Do  you  really  mind  going  with  me,  Vic 
tor?"  Elinor  asked. 

"Do  I  mind?  I've  been  waiting  two 
years  for  you  to  ask  me  to  go."  His  voice 
was  very  deep  and  there  was  a  soft  light  in 
his  brown  eyes. 

Elinor's  pulse  beat  felt  a  thrill.  A  sud 
den  sense  of  the  sweetness  of  the  day  and  of  a 
joy  unlike  any  other  joy  of  her  life  possessed 
her. 

Down  on  the  bridge  they  stopped  to  watch 
the  sunlit  waters  of  the  Walnut  rippling 
below  them. 

"Are  we  the  same  two  who  crept  up  on 
this  bridge,  wet,  and  muddy  and  tired,  and 
scared  one  stormy  October  night  eighteen 
months  ago?  "  Elinor  asked. 

"  I  Ve  had  no  reincarnation  that  I  know 
of,"  Vic  replied. 

"  I  have,"  Elinor  declared,  and  Vic 
thought  of  Burgess. 

Up  the  narrow  hidden  glen  they  made 
their  way,  clambering  about  broken  ledges, 
crossing  and  recrossing  the  little  stream, 
hugging  the  dry  footing  under  overhanging 
rock  shelves,  laughing  at  missteps  and  re- 


Loss,  or  Gain?  149 

joicing  in  the  springtime  joy,  until  they 
came  suddenly  upon  a  grassy  open  space, 
cliff-walled  and  hidden,  even  from  the  rest 
of  the  glen.  At  the  farther  end  was  the  low 
doorway-like  entrance  to  the  cave.  The 
song-birds  were  twittering  in  the  trees  above 
them,  the  waters  of  the  little  stream  gurgled 
at  their  feet,  the  woodsy  odor  of  growing 
things  was  in  the  air,  and  all  the  little  glen 
was  restful  and  quiet. 

"  Is  n't  it  beautiful  and  romantic  —  and 
everything  nice?"  Elinor  cried.  "I  don't 
mind  this  sentence  to  hard  service.  It  is 
worth  it.  Do  you  mind  the  loss  of  time,  Vic 
tor?" 

"  I  counted  it  gain  to  be  here  with  you, 
even  in  the  storm  and  terror.  How  can 
this  be  loss?"  he  answered  her.  His  voice 
was  low  and  musical. 

Elinor  looked  up  quickly.  And  quickly 
as  the  thing  had  come  to  Victor  Burleigh  on 
the  west  bluff  above  the  old  Kickapoo  Cor 
ral  two  Octobers  ago,  so  to  Elinor  Wream 
came  the  vision  of  what  the  love  of  such  a 
man  would  be  to  the  woman  who  could 
win  it. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it,  Victor?  Wasn't 
I  a  lump  of  lead?  A  dead  weight  to  your 


150  A  Master's  Degree 

strength  that  night?  You  have  never  once 
spoken  of  it." 

She  looked  up  with  shining  eyes  and  put 
out  her  hand.  What  could  he  do  but  keep 
it  in  his  own  for  a  moment,  firm-held,  as 
something  he  would  keep  forever. 

"  I  have  never  once  forgotten  it,"  he  mur 
mured. 

The  cave  by  daylight  was  as  the  lightning 
had  shown  it,  a  big  chamber,  rock-walled, 
rock-floored,  rock-roofed,  in  the  side  of  the 
bluff,  but  little  below  the  level  of  the  ground 
and  easy  of  entrance.  It  was  cool  and  damp, 
but,  with  the  daylight  through  the  doorway, 
it  was  merely  shadowy  inside.  In  the  far 
ther  wall  yawned  the  ragged  opening  to  the 
black  spaces  leading  off  underground. 
Through  this  opening  these  two  had  crept 
once,  feeling  that  behind  the  wall  somebody 
was  crouching  with  evil  intent.  They  peered 
through  the  opening  now,  trying  to  see  the 
miraculous  way  by  which  they  had  come 
into  the  cave  from  the  rear.  But  they  stared 
only  into  blackness  and  caught  the  breath 
of  the  damp  underground  air  with  a  faint 
odor  of  wood  smoke  somewhere. 

"  Elinor,  it's  a  good  thing  we  came 
through  here  in  the  night.  It  would  have 


Loss,  or  Gain?  151 

been  maddening  to  be  forced  in  here  by 
daylight.  We  must  have  slipped  down 
through  a  hole  somewhere  in  our  stumbles 
and  hit  a  passage  leading  out  of  here  only 
to  the  river,  a  sort  of  fire  escape  by  way  of 
the  waters.  You  remember  we  could  n't  get 
anywhere  on  the  back  track,  except  to  the 
cliff  above  the  Walnut.  It's  all  very  fine 
if  the  escaper  gets  out  of  the  river  before 
he  reaches  Lagonda's  whirlpool." 

He  was  leaning  far  through  the  opening 
in  the  wall,  gazing  into  the  darkness  and 
seeing  nothing. 

"  Somewhere  back  in  there,  while  I  was 
pawing  around  that  night,  I  found  some 
thing  up  in  a  chink  that  felt  like  the  odd- 
shaped  little  silver  pitcher  my  mother  had 
once  —  an  old  family  heirloom,  lost  or  stolen 
some  time  ago.  I  came  back  and  hunted  for 
it  later,  but  it  was  winter  time  and  cold  as 
the  grave  outside  and  darker  in  here,  and  I 
couldn't  find  anything,  so  I  concluded  may 
be  I  was  mistaken  altogether  about  its  being 
like  that  old  pitcher  of  ours.  It  was  a  bad 
night  for  '  seein'  things ' ;  it  might  have  been 
for  '  feelin'  things '  as  well.  There 's  nothing 
here  but  damp  air  and  darkness." 

And  even  while  he  was  speaking  close 


152  A  Master's  Degree 

beside  the  wall,  so  near  that  a  hand  could 
have  reached  him,  a  man  was  crouching; 
the  same  man  whose  cruel  eyes  had  stared 
through  the  bushes  at  Lloyd  Fenneben  as  he 
sat  by  the  river  before  Pigeon  Place;  the 
same  man  whose  eyes  had  leered  at  Vic  Bur- 
leigh  in  this  same  place  eighteen  months 
before;  the  same  man  whom  little  Bug 
Buler's  innocent  face  had  startled  as  he  was 
about  to  seize  the  money  box  at  the  gateway 
to  the  Sunrise  football  field;  and  this  same 
man  was  crouching  now  to  spring  at  Vic 
Burleigh's  throat  in  the  darkness. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  a  fellow  has  a  guardian 
angel  once  in  a  while,"  Vic  said,  as  he 
hastily  withdrew  his  head  and  shoulders. 
"We  get  pretty  close  to  the  edge  of  things 
sometimes  and  never  know  how  near  we  are 
to  destruction." 

"  We  were  pretty  close  that  night,"  Elinor 
replied. 

"  Shall  we  rest  here  a  little  while,  or  do 
your  savage  sorority  sisters  require  you  to 
do  time  in  so  many  minutes?"  Vic  asked, 
as  they  left  the  cave  and  came  again  into 
the  sunlight,  and  all  the  sweetness  of  the 
April  woodland,  and  the  rugged  beauty  of 
the  glen. 


Loss,  or  Gain?  153 

"  I  'm  glad  to  rest,"  Elinor  said,  dropping 
down  on  a  stone.  Her  cheeks  were  bloom 
ing  from  the  exercise  of  the  tramp,  and  her 
pretty  hair  was  in  disorder. 

Far  away  from  the  west  prairie  came  the 
faint  note  of  a  child's  voice  in  song. 

"Victor,"  Elinor  said,  as  they  listened, 
"do  you  know  that  the  Sunrise  girls  envy 
Bug  Buler?  They  say  you  would  have 
more  time  for  the  girls  if  it  wasn't  for  him. 
What  you  spend  for  him  you  could  spend 
on  light  refreshments  for  them,  don't  you 
see?" 

"  I  know  I  'm  a  stingy  cuss,"  Vic  said, 
carelessly,  but  a  deeper  red  touched  his 
cheek. 

"You  know  you  are  not,"  Elinor  insisted, 
"  and  I  Ve  always  thought  it  was  a  beautiful 
thing  for  a  big  grown  man  like  you  to  care 
for  a  little  orphan  boy.  All  the  girls  think 
so,  too." 

Burleigh  looked  down  at  her  gratefully. 

"  I  thought  once  —  in  fact,  I  was  told  once 
—  that  my  care  for  him  was  sufficient  reason 
why  I  should  let  all  the  girls  alone,  most  of 
all  why  I  should  not  think  of  Elinor 
Wream." 

"How   strange!"     Elinor's   face   had   a 


154  A  Master's  Degree 

womanly  expression.  "I  've  never  had  a  lit 
tle  child  to  love  me.  I  Ve  been  brought  up 
with  only  ^neas's  small  son  Ascanius,  and 
other  classical  children,  on  Uncle  Joshua's 
Dead  Language  book  shelves.  I  feel  some 
times  as  if  I  'd  been  robbed." 

"You?  I  didn't  know  you  had  ever 
wanted  anything  you  didn't  get." 

Victor  had  thought  all  things  were  due  to 
her  and  came  as  duly.  The  womanly  look 
on  her  face  now  was  a  revelation  to  him. 
But  then  he  had  not  dared  to  study  her  face 
for  months,  and  he  did  not  yet  realize  what 
life  in  Dr.  Fenneben's  home  must  mean  to 
her  character-building. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  some  time  about  something 
I  ought  to  have  had,  a  sacrifice  I  was  forced 
to  make ;  but  not  now.  Tell  me  about  Bug." 

There  was  no  bitterness  in  Elinor's  tone, 
yet  the  idea  of  her  having  the  capacity  to 
endure  gave  her  a  newer  charm  to  the  man 
beside  her. 

"  I  have  never  known  whose  child  Bug 
is,"  he  began.  "  The  way  in  which  he  came 
to  me  is  full  of  terrible  memories,  and  it  all 
happened  on  the  blackest  day  of  my  life  — 
the  hard  life  of  a  lonely  boy  on  a  Kansas 
claim.  That's  why  I  never  speak  of  it  and 


Loss,  or  Gain? 


try  always  to  forget  it.  I  found  him  by  mere 
accident,  helpless  and  in  awful  danger.  He 
was  about  two  years  old  then  and  all  he 
could  say  was  '  bad  man  '  and  his  name,  '  Bug 
Buler.'  I  Ve  wondered  if  Bug  is  his  name, 
or  if  he  could  not  speak  his  real  name 
plainly  then." 

Burleigh  paused,  and  a  sense  of  Elinor's 
interest  brought  a  thrill  of  joy  to  him. 

"  Where  was  he?  "  she  asked. 

Vic  slowly  unfastened  his  cuff  and  slipped 
his  coat  sleeve  up  to  his  elbow. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  scar?"  he  asked. 
"  It  is  not  the  only  one  I  have.  I  fought 
with  death  for  that  baby  boy  and  I  shall 
always  carry  the  scars  of  that  day.  Bug  was 
alone  in  a  lonely  little  deserted  dugout. 
Somebody  had  left  him  there  to  perish.  He 
was  on  a  low  chair,  the  only  furniture  in  the 
room,  and  on  the  earth  floor  between  him 
and  me  were  five  of  the  ugliest  rattlesnakes 
that  ever  coiled  for  a  deadly  blow.  Little 
Bug  held  out  his  arms  to  me,  and  I  '11  never 
forget  his  baby  face  —  and  —  I  killed  them 
all  and  carried  him  away.  It  was  a  danger 
ous,  hard  job,  but  the  boy  I  saved  has 
been  the  blessing  of  my  life  ever  since.  I 
could  not  have  endured  the  days  that  fol- 


156  A  Master's  Degree 

lowed  without  his  need  for  care  and  his  love 
and  innocence.  He 's  kept  me  good,  Elinor. 
When  I  got  back  home  with  him  my  mother, 
who  had  been  very  sick,  was  dead,  and  our 
house  had  been  robbed  of  every  valuable  by 
some  thief  —  a  wayside  tragedy  of  western 
Kansas.  That  was  the  day  the  pitcher  was 
stolen.  A  note  was  left  warning  me  not  to 
follow  nor  try  to  find  out  who  had  done  the 
stealing,  but  I  thought  I  knew  anyhow. 
That's  why  I  killed  that  bull  snake  the  first 
day  I  came  to  Sunrise  and  that 's  why  I  must 
have  looked  like  a  bulldog  to  you,  soft-shel 
tered  Cambridge  folks.  Life  has  been  mostly 
a  fist  fight  for  me,  but  Dr.  Fenneben  has 
taught  me  that  there  are  other  powers  be 
side  physical  strength.  That  the  knock 
down  game  doesn't  bring  the  real  victory 
always.  I  hope  I  Ve  learned  a  little  here." 

A  little!  Could  this  be  the  big  awkward 
freshman  of  a  September  day  gone  by? 
Then  college  culture  is  surely  worth  the 
cost. 

Elinor  leaned  forward,  eagerly. 

"Tell  me  about  your  father,"  she  said. 

"  My  father  lost  his  life  because  he  dared 
to  tell  the  truth,"  Victor  replied. 

"Oh,  glorious!"  Elinor  cried,  earnestly. 


Loss,  or  Gain?  157 

"  I  have  always  loved  my  father's  memory 
for  his  courage,"  Victor  continued.  "  He 
was  a  believer  in  law  enforcement  and  he 
was  a  terror  to  the  bootleggers  who  carried 
whisky  into  our  settlement.  A  man  named 
Gresh  was  notorious  for  selling  whisky  to 
the  claim  holders.  He  gave  it,  Elinor,  gave 
it,  to  a  boy,  a  widow's  son,  made  him  drunk, 
robbed  him,  and  left  him  to  freeze  to  death 
in  a  blizzard.  The  boy  lived  long  enough  to 
tell  my  father  who  did  it,  and  it  was  his 
testimony  that  helped  to  convict  Gresh  and 
start  him  to  the  penitentiary.  He  escaped 
from  the  sheriff  on  the  way  —  and,  so  far 
as  I  know,  there's  one  bad  man  still  at  large, 
a  fugitive  before  the  law.  Whisky  is  the 
devil's  own  best  tool,  whether  a  man  drinks 
it  himself  or  gets  other  people  to  drink  it." 

"  That 's  a  bad  name,"  Elinor  said.  "  My 
grandfather  adopted  a  boy  named  Gresh, 
who  turned  out  bad.  I  think  he  was  killed 
in  a  saloon  row  in  Chicago.  Did  this  Gresh 
ever  trouble  you  again?" 

Burleigh's  face  was  grim  as  ne  answered : 

"  My  father  was  waylaid  and  murdered 
with  a  club  by  this  man.  He  escaped  after 
ward  into  Indian  Territory.  He  left  his 
own  name,  Gresh,  scrawled  on  a  piece  of 


158  A  Master's  Degree 

paper  pinned  to  my  father's  coat  to  show 
whose  revenge  was  worked  out.  He  was  a 
volcano  of  human  hate  —  that  man  Gresh. 
After  my  father's  name  was  written — 'The 
same  club  for  every  Burleigh  who  ever 
crosses  my  path.'  I  expect  to  cross  his  path 
some  day,  and  if  I  ever  lay  my  eyes  on  that 
fiend  it  will  go  hard  with  one  of  us."  The 
yellow  glow  burned  again  in  Victor  Bur- 
leigh's  eyes  and  his  fists  clinched  involun 
tarily.  They  wrere  silent  a  while,  until  the 
sweetness  of  the  day  and  the  joy  of  being 
together  wooed  them  to  happier  thoughts. 
Then  Elinor  remembered  her  disordered 
hair  and,  throwing  aside  her  hat,  she  deftly 
put  it  into  place. 

"Am  I  presentable  for  the  supper  at  the 
Kickapoo  Corral?"  she  asked,  as  she  picked 
up  her  hat  again. 

"You  suit  me,"  Burleigh  replied.  "What 
are  the  Kickapoo  requirements?" 

"  That  Victor  Burleigh  shall  be  satisfied," 
she  answered,  roguishly.  "Really,  that's 
right.  Four  girls  offered  to  substitute  for 
me  in  this  penitential  pilgrimage  and  write 
some  long  translations  for  me  beside." 

"Four,  individually  or  collectively?"  he 
asked. 


Loss,  or  Gain?  159 

"  Either  way,"  she  answered. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  let  them  do  it?  " 

"Which  way?" 

"  Either  way,"  he  replied. 

"Would  you  rather  have  had  the  four 
either  way,  than  me?"  she  questioned,  with 
pretty  vanity. 

"  Much  rather."    His  voice  was  stern. 

"Why?"    She  was  stung  by  the  answer. 

The  glen  was  all  a  dreamy  gray-green 
ruggedness  of  shelving  rock  with  mossy 
crevices  and  ferny  nooks.  The  sunlight 
filtering  through  the  young  leaves  fell  about 
them  in  a  shadow-flecked  softness.  There 
was  a  crooning  song  of  some  bird  on  its 
nest,  the  murmur  of  waters  rippling  down 
the  stony  shallows,  and  a  beautiful  girl  in 
a  dainty  pink  dress  with  her  fingers  just 
touching  her  fluffy  masses  of  hair. 

"Why?" 

With  the  question  Elinor  looked  up  and 
saw  why.  Saw  in  Victor  Burleigh's  golden- 
brown  eyes  a  look  she  had  never  read  in 
eyes  before;  saw  the  whole  face,  the  rugged, 
manly  face  lighted  with  a  man's  overmas 
tering  love.  And  the  joy  of  it  thrilled  her 
soul. 

"  Do  you  know  why?  " 


160  A  Master's  Degree 

He  leaned  toward  her  ever  so  little.  And 
Elinor  Wream,  forgetful  of  the  Wream 
family  rank,  forgetful  of  her  tacit  consent 
to  Uncle  Joshua's  wishes,  forgetful  of  Vin 
cent  Burgess  and  his  heritage  of  culture, 
beautiful  Elinor  Wream,  with  her  starry 
eyes,  and  cheeks  of  peach-blossom  pink,  put 
out  her  hands  to  Victor  Burleigh,  who  took 
them  eagerly. 

"  Let  me  hold  them  a  minute,"  he  said, 
softly.  "There  are  sixty  years  to  remem 
ber,  but  only  one  hour  like  this." 

Then,  forgetful  of  the  world  and  the 
demands  of  the  world,  keeping  her  hands 
in  his,  he  bent  and  kissed  her,  as  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world  it  was  his  right  to 
do.  And  Love's  Young  Dream,  not  bought 
with  pain,  as  mother  love  is  bought,  nor 
wrought  out  with  prayer  and  sacrificial 
service,  as  love  for  all  humanity  is  won, 
came  again  on  this  April  day  to  the  little, 
rock-sheltered  glen  beside  the  bright  waters 
of  the  Walnut,  and  briefly  there  rebuilt  in 
rainbow  hues  the  old,  old  paradise  of  joy 
for  these  two  alone. 

And  into  the  new  Eden  came  the  new 
serpent  also  for  to  destroy.  Before  Elinor 
and  Victor  was  the  sunlit  valley.  Behind 


Loss,  or  Gain?  161 

them  was  the  cave's  mouth  with  its  shadowy 
gloom  deepening  back  to  dense  darkness. 
And  creeping  stealthily  through  that  black 
ness,  like  a  serpent  warming  its  venom  and 
writhing  slowly  toward  the  light,  a  human 
form  was  slowly,  stealthily  crawling  out 
ward,  with  head  upreared  and  cruel  eyes 
alert.  The  brutal  face  was  void  of  pity,  as 
if  the  conscience  behind  it  had  long  been 
bound  and  gagged  to  human  sympathy. 

While  Burleigh  was  speaking  the  cave 
man  had  reached  the  doorway  and  reared 
up  just  beside  it  in  the  shadow.  Clutching 
a  brutal-looking  club  in  his  hairy,  rough 
hand,  he  stood  listening  to  the  story  of  the 
murder  that  had  left  Victor  fatherless.  The 
face  of  the  listener  made  clear  the  need  for 
guardian  angels.  One  leap,  one  blow,  and 
Victor  Burleigh  would  carry  only  one  more 
scar  to  his  grave. 

Suddenly  a  faint  piping  voice  floated  in 
upon  the  glen: 

Little  childwen  pwessing  near 
To  the  feet  of  Thwist,  the  Ting, 

Have  you  neiver  doubt  nor  fear 
Or  some  twibute  do  you  bwing? 


1 62  A  Master's  Degree 

the  fallen  ledges  and  debauched  into  the 
grassy  sunshiny  space  before  the  cavern. 
Only  a  tiny,  tumbled-up,  joyous  child,  with 
no  power  in  his  pudgy  little  arm;  and  Vic 
tor  Burleigh,  tall,  muscular  and  agile. 
Against  this  man  of  tremendous  strength 
the  caveman's  club  was  lifted.  But  with 
the  sound  of  the  child's  voice  and  the  sight 
of  the  innocent  face  the  club  fell  harmless. 
A  look  of  fright,  deepening  to  a  maniac's 
terror,  seized  the  creature,  and  noiselessly 
and  swiftly  as  a  serpent  would  escape  he 
crawled  back  into  the  darkness  and  bur 
rowed  deep  from  the  eyes  of  men.  So 
strength  that  day  was  ruled  by  weakness. 

"I  ist  followed  you,  Vic,"  Bug  said, 
clutching  Vic's  hand. 

"This  isn't  a  safe  place  to  come,  Bug. 
You  mustn't  follow  me  here." 

"Nen  you  mustn't  go  into  isn't  safe 
places,  so  I  won't  follow.  Little  folks  don't 
know,"  Bug  said,  with  cunning  gravity. 

"  He  is  right,"  Elinor  said.  "  I  think  we  'd 
better  leave  now." 

They  knew  that  henceforth  this  spot 
would  be  holy  ground  for  them,  but 
they  did  not  dare  to  think  further  than 
that.  They  only  wished  that  the  moments 


Loss,  or  Gain?  163 

would  stay,  that  the  sun  would  loiter  slowly 
down  the  afternoon  sky. 

"  I  know  a  way  out,"  Bug  declared. 
"  Turn,  I'll  show  you." 

Then,  with  a  child's  sense  of  direction,  he 
led  away  from  the  cave  out  to  where  the 
deep  ravine  headed  in  a  rough  mass  of 
broken  rock. 

"Tlimb  up  that  and  you're  out,"  Bug 
declared. 

They  climbed  up  to  the  high  level  prairie 
that  sweeps  westward  from  the  Walnut 
bluffs. 

"  Doodby,  folks.  I  want  to  Botany  wiv 
um  over  there.  I  turn  wiv  Limpy  out  here." 

Bug  pointed  to  a  group  of  students  wan 
dering  about  in  search  of  dogtooth  violets 
and  other  botanical  plunder  from  Nature's 
springtime  treasury.  Among  the  group 
was  Bug's  chum,  the  crippled  student. 

"Well,  stay  with  them  this  time,  you 
little  wandering  Jew,"  Vic  admonished,  nor 
dreamed  how  his  guardian  angel  had  come 
to  him  this  day  in  the  guise  of  this  same 
little  wanderer. 

When  Victor  and  Elinor  had  come  at  last 
to  the  west  bluff  above  the  Walnut  River, 
the  late  afternoon  was  already  casting  long 


164  A  Master's  Degree 

shadows  across  the  grassy  level  of  the  old 
Kickapoo  Corral.  And  again  the  camp 
fires  were  glowing  where  a  Sorority 
"spread"  was  merrily  in  the  making. 

They  must  go  down  soon  and  join  in  the 
hilarity.  But  a  golden  half  hour  yet  hung 
in  the  west — and  the  going  down  meant  the 
going  back  to  all  that  had  been. 

"  Look  at  the  foam  on  the  whirlpool, 
Elinor.  See  how  deliberately  it  swings  up 
stream.  Isn't  that  a  most  deceiving  bit  of 
treachery?"  Vic  said  as  he  watched  the 
river. 

Elinor  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  slow- 
moving  water. 

"  I  cannot  endure  deceit,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  I  like  honesty  in  everything.  I  said  I 
would  tell  you  sometime  about  a  sacrifice  I 
was  forced  to  make.  I  '11  tell  you  now  if 
you  will  not  speak  of  what  I  say." 

How  delicious  to  have  her  confidence  in 
anything.  Vic  smiled  assent. 

"My  father  had  a  fortune  from  my 
mother.  When  he  died  he  left  me  to  the 
care  of  my  two  uncles,  and  gave  all  his 
money  to  endow  chairs  in  universities.  He 
thought  a  woman  could  marry  money,  and 
that  he  was  doing  mankind  a  service  in  this 


Loss,  or  Gain?  165 

endowment.  Maybe  he  was,  but  I  Ve  al 
ways  rebelled  against  being  dependent. 
I  Ve  always  wanted  my  own.  Uncle  Joshua 
thinks  I  am  frivolous,  and  he  has  told  Uncle 
Lloyd  that  it's  just  my  love  of  spending  and 
extravagant  notions  that  makes  me  rebel 
against  conditions.  It  isn't.  It's  the  sense 
of  being  robbed,  as  it  were.  It  was  n't  right 
and  honest  toward  me,  even  in  a  great  cause, 
to  leave  me  dependent.  Uncle  Lloyd  would 
never  have  done  it.  I  hope  he  does  n't  think 
I  'm  as  bad  as  Uncle  Joshua  does.  You 
won't  mind  my  telling  you  this,  nor  think 
me  ungrateful  to  my  relatives  for  their  care 
of  me.  Nobody  quite  understands  me  but 
you." 

The  time  had  come  for  them  to  join  the 
jolly  picnic  crowd  in  the  Corral.  She  would 
go  back  to  Vincent  Burgess  in  a  little  while, 
and  this  glorious  day  would  be  only  a  mem 
ory.  And  yet,  down  in  the  pretty  glen,  Vic 
tor  had  held  her  hands  and  kissed  her  red 
lips.  And  she  had  been  glad  down  there. 
The  void  in  his  life  seemed  blacker  than 
the  blackness  behind  the  cavern. 

"  Elinor,"  he  asked,  suddenly,  "  are  you 
bound  by  any  promise  —  has  Professor  Bur 
gess —  ?"  He  hesitated. 


1 66  A  Master  s  Degree 

"No,"  she  answered,  turning  her  face 
away. 

"  Pardon  my  rudeness.  You  know  I  am 
not  well-bred,"  he  said,  gently. 

"Victor  Burleigh,  you  ill-bred,  of  all  the 
gentle,  manly  fellows  in  Sunrise!  You  know 
you  are  not." 

A  great  hope  leaped  to  life  now,  as  Vic 
recalled  the  query,  "  If  Victor  Burleigh  had 
his  corners  knocked  off  and  was  sandpapered 
down  and  had  money?" — and  of  Elinor's 
blushing  confession  that  it  would  make  a 
difference  she  could  not  help  if  these  things 
were.  The  corners  were  knocked  off  now, 
and  Dean  Fenneben  had  gently  but  persist 
ently  applied  the  sandpaper.  The  money 
must  be  henceforth  the  one  condition. 

"  Elinor."  Vic's  voice  was  sweet  as  low 
bars  of  music. 

"Oh,  Victor,  there's  something  I  can't 
prevent." 

She  was  thinking  of  Uncle  Joshua,  whose 
money  had  supported  her  all  these  years 
and  of  her  obligation  to  heed  his  wishes.  It 
was  all  settled  for  her  now.  And  all  the 
while  Victor  was  thinking  of  his  own  limited 
means  as  the  rock  that  was  wrecking  him 
with  her. 


Loss,  or  Gain?  167 

For  all  his  life  afterward  he  never  forgot 
the  sorrow  of  that  moment.  He  looked  into 
Elinor's  face,  and  all  the  longing,  all  the 
heart-hunger  of  the  days  gone  by,  and  of  the 
days  to  come  seemed  to  lie  in  those  wide- 
open  eyes  shaded  by  long  black  lashes. 

"  Elinor,  my  father's  cruel  murder  and 
my  mother  dying  alone  were  one  kind  of 
grief.  My  fight  with  those  deadly  poison 
things  to  rescue  little  Bug  was  another  kind. 
My  days  of  hardship  and  poverty  on  the 
claim,  with  only  Bug  and  me  in  that  deso 
late  loneliness,  was  still  another.  But  none 
of  these  seem  a  sorrow  beside  what  I  must 
face  henceforth.  And  yet  I  have  one  joy 
mine  now.  You  did  care  down  in  the  glen. 
May  I  keep  that  one  gracious  joy  —  mine 
always?" 

"You  have  always  won  in  every  game. 
You  will  in  this  struggle.  Don't  forget  the 
name  your  mother  gave  you."  Her  eyes 
were  luminous  with  tears.  "We  must  go 
down  to  the  Corral  now.  Tomorrow  will 
make  things  all  right.  I  shall  be  proud  of 
you  and  your  success  everywhere,  for  you* 
will  succeed." 

"  I  may  not  be  worthy  of  victory,"  he  said, 
sadly. 


1 68  A  Master  s  Degree 

"You  have  never  been  unworthy.  Don't 
be  now."  She  smiled  bravely. 

They  turned  from  the  west  prairie  and  the 
sunset,  and  slowly  they  passed  out  of  its  pass 
ing  radiance  down  to  the  darkening  spaces 
of  the  old  Kickapoo  Corral. 

And  the  day  with  its  gladness  and  sorrow, 
whether  for  loss  or  gain,  slipped  into  the 
shadowy  beauty  of  an  April  twilight. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GAIN,  OR  LOSS? 

Ye  know  how  hard  an  Idol  dies,  an'  what  that  meant 

to  me  — 
E'en  take  it  for  a  sacrifice,  acceptable  to  Thee. 

—  KIPLING 

HE  ball  game  on  Friday,  the  thirteenth, 
was  a  great  event  this  year.  The  Sun 
rise  football  eleven  had  held  the  champion 
ship  record  with  an  uncrossed  goal  line  in 
the  autumn.  The  basket-ball  team  had  had 
no  defeat  this  year.  Debating  tests  had 
given  Sunrise  the  victory.  That  came 
through  Trench  and  the  crippled  student. 
And  the  state  oratorical  struggle  repeated 
the  story,  a  conquest,  all  the  greater  be 
cause  Victor  Burleigh,  the  athlete,  wore 
also  the  laurels  of  oratory.  And  why  should 
he  not,  with  that  fine  presence  and  magnifi 
cent  voice?  As  Dr.  Fenneben  listened  to 
his  forceful  logic  he  saw  clearly  the  line  for 
the  boy's  future,  a  line,  he  thought,  that 
could  end  at  last  only  in  the  pulpit. 

One  more  battle  to  fight  now  and  Lagonaa 
Ledge  and  the  whole  Walnut  Valley  would 

169 


170  A  Master's  Degree 

go  down  in  history  as  famous  soil.  It  was  a 
banner  year  for  Sunrise,  and  enthusiasm  was 
at  fever  pitch,  which  in  college  is  the  only 
healthy  temperature.  In  this  last  battle 
Sunrise  turned  again  to  Victor  Burleigh  as 
its  highest  hope.  Although  this  was  his  first 
game  for  the  season,  he  had  never  failed  to 
bring  victory  to  the  Sunrise  banners,  and  in 
all  his  base-ball  practice  he  was  as  unerring 
as  he  was  speedy.  And  then  success  was 
his  habit  anyhow.  So  "Burleigh  at  the 
bat"  was  the  slogan  now  from  the  summit 
of  the  college  ridge  to  the  farthest  corners 
of  Lagonda  Ledge;  and  idol  worship  were 
insignificant  compared  to  the  adulation 
poured  out  on  him.  And  Burleigh,  being 
young  and  very  human,  had  all  the  pleasure 
the  adoration  of  a  community  can  bring  to 
its  local  hero.  For  truly,  few  triumphs  in 
life's  later  years  can  be  fraught  with  half 
the  keen  joy  these  school  day  victories 
bring.  And  the  applause  of  listening  sen 
ates  means  less  than  good  old  comrades' 
yells. 

Vincent  Burgess,  A.  B.,  Greek  Professor 
from  Boston,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  en 
tirely  about  types  and  geographical  breadths 
and  seclusion  for  profound  research  amid 


Gain,  or  Loss?  171 

barren  prairies.  He  was  faculty  member 
on  the  Athletic  board  now  and  enthusiastic 
about  all  college  sports.  Sunrise  had  done 
this  much  for  him  anyhow.  In  addition, 
the  young  educator  was  taking  on  a  little 
roundness,  suggestive  of  a  stout  form  in 
middle  life. 

But  Vincent  Burgess  had  not  forgotten  alf 
of  the  motives  that  had  pulled  him  Kansas- 
ward,  although  unknown  to  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben,  he  had  already  refused  to  consider  a 
position  higher  up  in  an  eastern  college.  He 
was  not  quite  ready  to  leave  the  West  yet. 
Of  course,  not.  Elinor  Wream  was  only 
half  through  school  and  growing  more 
popular  as  she  was  growing  more  womanly 
and  more  beautiful  each  year.  His  salva 
tion  lay  in  keeping  on  the  grounds  if  he 
would  hold  his  claim  undisturbed. 

Burgess  had  come  to  Kansas,  he  had  told 
Fenneben,  in  order  to  know  something  of 
the  state  where  his  only  sister  had  lived. 
He  did  not  know  yet  all  he  wished  to  know 
about  her  life  and  death  here.  Her  name 
was  never  spoken  in  his  father's  presence 
after  she  came  West,  so  great  was  that 
father's  anger  over  her  leaving  the  East. 
And  deep  in  Vincent's  mind  he  fixed  the 


172  A  Master's  Degree 

impression  that  his  daughter  had  died  as 
unreconciled  to  her  brother  as  to  her  father 
himself. 

This  was  all  his  own  business,  however, 
and  hidden  deep,  almost  out  of  sight  of  him 
self,  was  a  selfish  motive  that  had  not  yet 
put  a  visible  mark  on  the  surface. 

Burgess  wanted  to  marry  Norrie  Wream, 
and  he  wanted  her  to  have  all  the  good 
things  of  life  which  in  her  simple  rearing 
had  been  denied  her.  The  heritage  from 
his  father's  estate  included  certain  trust 
funds  ambiguously  bestowed  by  an  eccentric 
English  ancestor  upon  someone  who  had 
come  West  not  long  before  his  death.  These 
funds  Vincent  held  by  his  father's  will  —  to 
which  will  Joshua  Wream  was  witness  —  on 
condition  that  no  heir  to  these  funds  was  liv 
ing.  If  there  were  such  person  or  persons 
living  —  but  Burgess  knew  there  were  none. 
Joshua  Wream  had  made  sure  of  that  for 
him  before  he  left  Cambridge.  And  yet  it 
might  be  well  to  stay  in  Kansas  for  a  year  or 
two  —  much  better  to  settle  any  possible  dif 
ficulty  here  than  to  have  anything  follow 
him  East  later.  For  Burgess  had  his  eye 
on  Dr.  Wream's  chair  in  Harvard  when  the 
old  man  should  give  it  up.  That  was  a  part 


Gain,  or  Loss?  173 

of  the  contract  between  the  two  men,  the 
old  doctor  and  the  young  professor.  Until 
the  night  when  Bond  Saxon  forced  him  to 
take  an  unwilling  oath,  Burgess  had  had  a 
comfortable  conscience,  sure  that  his  finan 
cial  future  was  settled,  and  confident  that 
this  assured  him  the  hand  of  Elinor  Wream 
when  the  time  was  ripe.  With  that  October 
night,  however,  a  weight  of  anxiety  began 
that  increased  with  the  passing  days.  For 
as  he  grew  nearer  to  the  student  life  and 
took  on  flesh  and  good  will  and  a  broader 
knowledge  of  the  worth  of  humanity,  so  he 
grew  nearer  to  this  smoothly  hidden  inner 
care.  And,  outside  and  in,  he  wanted  to 
stay  in  Kansas  for  the  time. 

In  the  weeks  before  the  big  ball  game, 
Victor  Burleigh  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
the  glen  and  the  west  bluff  above  the  Kick- 
apoo  Corral.  The  girls  who  would  have 
substituted  for  Elinor  in  the  afternoon  ram 
ble  took  up  much  of  the  big  sophomore's 
time,  and  he  never  seemed  more  gay  nor 
care  free.  And  Elinor,  if  she  had  a  heart 
ache,  did  not  show  it  in  her  happy  manner. 

On  the  afternoon  before  the  ball  game,  a 
May  thunderstorm  swept  the  Walnut  Val 
ley  and  the  darkness  fell  early.  As  Dennie 


174  A  Master's  Degree 

Saxon  waited  on  the  Sunrise  portico  before 
starting  out  in  the  rain,  Professor  Burgess 
locked  the  front  door  and  joined  her.  Vic 
tor  Burleigh  was  also  waiting  beside  a  stone 
column  for  the  shower  to  lighten.  Burgess 
did  not  see  him  in  the  darkening  twilight 
and  Burleigh  never  spoke  to  the  young  in 
structor  when  it  was  not  necessary. 

"  I  must  be  nervous,"  Professor  Burgess 
said,  trying  to  manage  Dennie's  umbrella 
and  catching  it  in  her  hair.  "  I  had  a  letter 
today  that  worried  me." 

"  Too  bad ! "  Dennie  said  sympathetically. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  sometime." 

He  was  trying  to  loose  the  wire  rib-joint 
from  Dennie's  hair,  which  the  dampness  was 
rolling  in  soft  little  ringlets  about  her  fore 
head  and  neck.  Half-consciously,  he  re 
membered  the  same  outline  of  rippling  hair, 
as  it  had  looked  in  the  glow  of  the  October 
camp  fire  down  in  the  Kickapoo  Corral 
when  she  was  telling  the  old  legend  of  Swift 
Elk  and  The  Fawn  of  the  Morning  Light. 
She  smiled  up  at  him  consolingly.  Dennie 
was  level-headed,  and  life  was  always  worth 
living  where  she  was. 

"  I  '11  be  your  rain  beau."  He  took  her 
arm  to  assist  her  down  the  steps. 


Gain,  or  Loss?  175 

So  courteous  was  his  action,  she  might 
have  been  a  lady  of  rank  instead  of  old  Bond 
Saxon's  daughter  carrying  her  own  weight 
of  a  sorrow  greater  than  Lagonda  Ledge 
dreamed  of.  As  the  two  walked  slowly 
homeward  under  the  dripping  shelter  of  the 
trees,  Vincent  Burgess  felt  a  sense  of  com 
fort  and  pleasure  out  of  all  keeping  for  a 
man  in  love  elsewhere.  Victor  Burleigh 
watched  them  from  the  shadow  of  the 
portico  column. 

"  I  believe  Trench  is  right.  He  insists 
that  Burgess  likes  Dennie,  or  that  he  is  mean 
enough  to  deceive  Dennie  into  liking  him. 
A  man  like  that  ought  to  be  killed  —  a 
scholar,  and  a  rich  man,  and  Dennie  such 
a  brave  little  poor  girl  with  a  kind,  weak- 
kneed,  old  father  on  her  heart.  Norrie 
ought  to  know  this,  but  who  am  I  to  say  a 
word?" 

"Victor  Burleigh,  won't  you  release  the 
fair  princess  from  the  tower?"  a  girl's  voice 
called. 

Vic  turned  to  see  Elinor  framed  in  the 
half-way  window  of  the  south  turret.  And 
in  that  dripping  shadowy  light,  no  frame 
could  want  a  rarer  picture. 

"  I  Ve  fallen  into  the  pit  and  am  far  on 


176  A  Master  s  Degree 

the  road  to  perdition,"  Elinor  said.  "  I  hur 
ried  down  this  way  from  choir  practice  and 
Uncle  Lloyd's  gone  and  left  the  lower  door 
locked.  It  thundered  so,  and  Dennie  didn't 
come  into  the  study,  and  nobody  heard  my 
screams.  But  if  I  perish,  I  perish,"  she 
added  with  mock  resignation. 

"  If  you'll  let  up  on  perishing  for  half  a 
minute,  Rapunzel,  I  '11  to  the  rescue,"  Vic 
cried,  "  if  I  have  to  climb  the  dome  and 
knock  the  per  aspera  out  of  the  State  Seal 
and  come  down  through  the  hole,  per  astra 
ad  aspera"  And  then  he  rushed  off  to  find 
an  unlocked  exit  to  the  building. 

From  the  Chapel  end  of  the  circular 
stairs,  he  called  presently. 

"  Curfew  must  not  ring  for  a  couple  of 
seconds.  Rise  to  the  surface,  fair  mermaid." 

Elinor  came  up  the  winding  stair  into  the 
dimly  lighted  chapel  at  his  call.  The  two 
had  avoided  each  other  since  the  April  day 
in  the  glen.  They  were  not  to  blame  for 
this  chance  meeting  now. 

"  When  you  are  in  trouble  and  the  nights 
are  dark  and  rainy,  call  me,  Elinor,"  Vic 
said  as  they  were  crossing  the  rotunda. 

"  If  I  show  you  sometimes  how  to  look  up 
and  find  the  light,  as  you  showed  me  the 


Gain,  or  Loss?  177 

Sunrise  beacon  on  the  night  of  the  storm 
out  on  West  Bluff,  you  may  be  glad  you 
heard  me.  See  that  glow  on  the  dome! 
You  would  have  missed  that  down  in  La- 
gonda  Ledge." 

A  level  ray  from  a  momentary  cloudrift 
in  the  western  sky  smote  the  stained  glass  of 
the  dome,  lighting  its  gleaming  inscription 
with  a  fleeting  radiance. 

"  But  the  light  comes  rarely  and  is  so  far 
away,  and  between  times,  only  the  cave,  and 
the  dark  ways  behind  it  leading  to  the 
river,"  he  said  gravely.  The  sorrow  of 
hopelessness  was  his  tone. 

"  Not  unless  one  chooses  to  burrow  down 
ward,"  she  replied  softly.  "Let's  hurry 
home.  Tomorrow  you  will  be  '  Victor  the 
Famous'  again.  I  hope  this  shower  won't 
spoil  the  ball  game." 

As  night  deepened,  the  rain  fell  steadily. 
Up  in  Victor  Burleigh's  room  Bug  Buler 
grew  drowsy  early. 

"  I  want  to  say  my  pwayers  now,  Vic,"  he 
said. 

The  big  fellow  put  down  his  book  and 
took  the  child  in  his  arms.  Bug  had  a 
genius  for  praying  briefly  and  for  others 
rather  than  for  himself.  Tonight  he  merely 


178  A  Master's  Degree 

clasped  his  chubby  hands  and  said,  rever 
ently: 

"  Dear  Dod,  please  ist  make  Vic  dood 
as  folks  finks  he  is,  for  Thwist's  sake. 
Amen-n-n." 

When  he  fell  asleep,  Victor  sat  a  long 
while  staring  at  the  window  where  the  May 
rain  was  beating  heavily.  At  length,  he  bent 
over  little  Bug  and  pushed  back  the  curls 
from  his  brow.  Bug  smiled  up  drowsily 
and  went  on  sleeping. 

"As  good  as  folks  think  I  am,  Bug!"  he 
mused.  "  You  have  gotten  between  me  and 
the  rattlesnakes  that  were  after  my  soul  a 
good  many  times,  little  brother-of-mine.  As 
good  as  folks  think  I  am!  Do  you  know 
what  it  costs  to  be  that  good?  " 

Ten  minutes  later  he  sat  in  Lloyd  Fenne- 
ben's  library. 

"  I  have  come  for  help,"  he  said  in  reply 
to  the  Dean's  questioning  face. 

"  I  hope  I  can  give  it,"  Fenneben  re 
sponded. 

"  It's  about  tomorrow's  game.  There  are 
sure  to  be  some  professional  players  on  the 
other  team.  I  want  Sunrise  to  win.  I  want 
to  win  myself."  Vic's  voice  was  harsh  to 
night.  And  the  Dean  caught  the  hard  tone. 


Gain,  or  Loss?  179 

"/  want  Sunrise  to  win.  I  want  you  to 
win.  There  will  probably  be  some  profes 
sionals  to  play  against,  but  we  have  no  way 
of  proving  this,"  Fenneben  said. 

"What  do  you  think  of  such  playing, 
Doctor?"  Vic  asked. 

"  I  think  the  rule  about  professionalism  is 
often  a  strained  piece  of  foolishness.  It  is 
violated  persistently  and  persistently  winked 
at,  but  so  long  as  it  is  the  rule  there  is  only 
one  square  thing  to  do,  and  that  is  to  live  up 
to  the  law.  You  should  not  dread  any  pro 
fessionalism  in  the  game  tomorrow,  how 
ever.  You  '11  bring  us  through  anyhow,  and 
keep  the  Sunrise  name  and  fame  untar 
nished."  The  Dean  smiled  genially. 

Burleigh's  face  was  very  pale  and  a 
strange  fire  burned  in  his  eyes. 

"  Dr.  Fenneben  " —  his  musical  voice  rang 
clear — "I'm  only  a  poor  devil  from  the 
short-grass  country  where  life  each  year  de 
pends  on  that  year's  crop.  Three  years  out 
of  four,  the  wind  and  drouth  bring  only 
failure  at  harvest  time.  Then  we  starve 
our  bodies  and  grip  onto  hope  and  deter 
mination  with  our  souls  till  seedtime  comes 
again.  I  want  a  college  education.  Last 
summer  burned  us  out  as  usual  within  a 


180  A  Master's  Degree 

month  of  harvest.  Then  the  mortgage  got 
in  its  work  on  my  claim  and  I  had  to  give 
it  up.  I  had  barely  enough  to  get  through 
here  at  pauper  rates  this  year — but  I 
couldn't  do  it  and  keep  Bug,  too.  I  went 
into  Colorado  and  played  baseball  for  pay, 
so  I  could  come  here  and  bring  him  with 
me.  That 's  why  I  can  out-bat  our  team,  and 
could  win  dead  easy  for  Sunrise  tomorrow. 
Nobody  in  Kansas  knows  it.  Now,  what 
shall  I  do?" 

The  words  were  shot  out  like  bullets. 

"What  shall  you  do?"  Lloyd  Fenne- 
ben's  black  eyes  held  Burleigh.  "There  is 
only  one  thing  to  do.  When  you  ranked 
high  in  grades  with  only  the  trivial  matter 
of  excusable  absence  against  you  —  no 
broken  law — you  took  Professor  Burgess 
gently  by  the  throat  and  told  him  you  meant 
to  play  anyhow.  You  stood  your  ground 
like  a  man,  for  your  own  sake  and  for  the 
honor  of  Sunrise.  Stand  like  a  man  for 
your  own  sake  and  the  honor  of  Sunrise, 
now.  Go  to  Professor  Burgess  and  take  him 
gently  —  by  the  hand,  this  time  —  and  tell 
him  you  do  not  mean  to  play,  and  why  you 
cannot." 

Burleigh  sat  still  as  stone,  his  face  white 


Gain,  or  Loss?  181 

as  marble,  his  wide-open  eyes  under  his 
black  brows  seeing  nothing. 

"But  our  proud  record  —  the  glorious 
honor  of  this  college,"  he  said  at  length,  and 
back  of  his  words  was  the  thought  of  Victor 
Burleigh,  the  idol  of  Sunrise,  dethroned, 
where  he  had  been  adored. 

"There  is  no  honor  for  a  college  like  the 
honesty  of  its  students.  There  is  no  prouder 
record  than  the  record  of  daring  to  do  the 
right.  You  could  get  into  the  game  once  by 
a  brute's  strength.  Get  out  of  it  now  by  a 
gentleman's  honor." 

Behind  the  speech  was  Lloyd  Fenneben 
himself,  sympathetic,  firm,  upright,  before 
whom  the  harshness  of  Victor  Burleigh's 
face  slowly  gave  place  to  an  expression  of 
sorrow. 

"My  boy,"  Fenneben  said  gently,  "Na 
ture  gave  us  the  Walnut  Valley  with  its 
limestone  ledges  and  fine  forest  trees.  But 
before  our  Sunrise  could  be  builded  the 
ledge  had  to  be  shapen  into  the  hewn  stone, 
the  green  tree  to  the  seasoned  lumber,  quar 
ter-sawed  oak  —  quarter-sawed,  mind  you. 
Mill,  forge  and  try-pit,  ax  and  saw  and 
chisel,  with  cleft  and  blow  and  furnace  heat, 
shaped  them  all  for  Service.  Over  our  door- 


182  A  Master's  Degree 

way  is  the  Sunrise  initial.  It  stands  also  for 
Strife,  part  of  which  you  know  already;  but 
it  stands  for  Sacrifice  as  well.  You  are  in 
the  shaping.  God  grant  you  may  be  turned 
out  a  man  fitted  by  Sacrifice  for  Service 
when  the  shaping  is  done." 

Burleigh  rose,  silent  still,  and  the  two 
went  out  together.  At  the  doorway,  he 
turned  to  Fenneben,  who  grasped  his  hand 
without  a  word.  And  once  again,  the  firm 
hand  clasp  of  the  Dean  of  Sunrise  seemed 
to  bind  the  country  boy  to  the  finer  things  of 
life.  It  had  done  the  same  on  that  day  after 
the  Thanksgiving  game  when  he  sat  in  Fen- 
neben's  study,  and  understood  for  the  first 
time  what  gives  the  right  to  pride  in  brawny 
arm  and  steel-spring  nerve. 

After  Burleigh  left  him,  Lloyd  Fenneben 
stood  for  a  long  time  on  his  veranda  in  the 
light  of  the  doorway  watching  the  steady 
downpour  of  the  warm  May  rain.  As  he 
turned  at  length  to  enter  the  house  a  rough- 
looking  man  with  rain-soaked  clothing  and 
slouched  hat,  sprang  out  of  the  shadows. 

"  Stranger,"  he  called  hastily.  "  There 's 
a  little  child  fell  in  the  river  round  the  bend, 
and  his  mother  got  hold  of  him,  but  she 
can't  pull  him  out,  and  can't  hold  on  much 


Gain,  or  Loss?  183 

longer.  Will  you  come  help  me,  quick? 
I  Ve  only  got  one  arm  or  I  wouldn't  have 
had  to  ask  for  help." 

An  empty  sleeve  was  flapping  in  the  rain, 
and  Fenneben  did  not  notice  then  that  the 
man  kept  that  side  of  himself  all  the  time 
in  the  shadows.  Fenneben  had  only  one 
thought  as  he  hurried  away  in  the  darkness, 
to  save  the  woman  and  child.  His  com 
panion  said  little,  directing  the  course 
toward  the  bend  in  the  river  before  the 
gateway  of  Pigeon  Place.  As  they  pushed 
on  with  all  speed  through  rain  and  mud, 
Fenneben  was  hardly  conscious  that  Dennie 
Saxon's  words  about  the  lonely  gray-haired 
hermit  woman  were  recurring  curiously  to 
his  mind. 

"  If  talking  about  Sunrise  made  her  cry 
like  that,  maybe  you  might  do  something 
for  her,"  Dennie  had  said.  He  had  never 
tried  to  do  anything  for  her.  Somehow  she 
seemed  to  be  the  woman  who  was  in  peril 
now,  and  he  was  half-consciously  blaming 
himself  that  he  had  never  tried  to  help  her, 
had  not  even  thought  of  her  for  months. 
Women  were  not  in  his  line,  except  the 
kindly  impersonal  interest  he  felt  for  all  the 
Sunrise  girls,  and  his  sense  of  responsibility 


184  A  Master's  Degree 

for  Norrie,  and  the  memory  of  a  girl  —  oh, 
the  hungry  haunting  memory! 

All  this  in  a  semi-conscious  fleetness  swept 
across  his  mind,  that  was  bent  on  reaching 
the  river,  and  on  that  woman  holding  a 
drowning  child.  At  the  bend  in  the  river, 
the  man  halted  suddenly. 

"Look  out!  There's  a  stone;  don't  stum 
ble!"  he  said  hoarsely,  dodging  back  as  he 
spoke. 

Then  Fenneben  was  conscious  of  his  own 
feet  striking  the  slab  of  stone  by  the  road 
side,  of  a  sudden  shove  from  somebody  be 
hind  him,  a  two-armed  man  it  must  have 
been,  of  stumbling  blindly,  trying  to  catch 
at  the  elm  tree  that  stood  there,  of  falling 
through  the  underbrush,  headforemost,  into 
the  river,  even  of  striking  the  water.  As  he 
fell,  he  was  very  faintly  conscious  of  a  sense 
of  pity  for  Victor  Burleigh  fighting  out  a 
battle  with  his  own  honor  tonight,  and  then 
he  must  have  heard  a  dog's  fierce  yelp,  and 
a  woman's  scream.  Somehow,  it  seemed  to 
come  through  distance  of  time,  as  out  of  past 
years,  and  not  through  length  of  space  — 
and  then  of  a  brutal  laugh  and  an  oath  with 
the  words: 

"Now  for  Josh  Wream,  and — " 


Gain,  or  Loss?  185 

But  Fenneben's  head  had  struck  the  stone 
ledge  against  which  the  Walnut  ripples  at 
low  tide,  and  for  a  long  time  he  knew  no 
more. 

It  was  raining  still  when  Victor  Burleigh 
reached  the  Saxon  House.  At  the  door  he 
met  Professor  Burgess,  who  was  just  leav 
ing.  Strangely  enough,  the  memory  of  their 
first  meeting  at  the  campus  gate  on  a  Sep 
tember  day  flashed  into  the  mind  of  each  as 
they  came  face  to  face  now.  They  never 
spoke  to  each  other  except  when  it  was  nec 
essary.  And  yet  tonight,  something  made 
them  greet  each  other  courteously. 

"  Professor,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
come  up  to  my  room  a  few  minutes?"  Bur 
leigh  asked,  lifting  his  cap  to  his  instructor 
with  the  words. 

"Certainly,"  Vincent  Burgess  said  with 
equal  grace. 

Bug  Buler  had  kicked  off  the  bed  cover 
ing  and  lay  fast  asleep  on  his  little  cot  with 
his  stubby  arms  bare,  and  his  little  fat  hands, 
dimpled  in  each  knuckle,  thrown  wide 
apart. 

"I  saw  a  picture  like  this  once  for  the 
sign  of  the  cross,"  Vic  said  as  he  drew  the 
covering  over  the  little  form.  "  Bug  has 


1 86  A  Master's  Degree 


been  a  cross  to  me  sometimes,  but  he's 
oftener  my  salvation." 

Professor  Burgess  wondered  again,  why  a 
boy  like  Burleigh  should  have  been  given  a 
voice  of  such  rare  charm. 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  long,"  Vic  said, 
turning  from  Bug.  "I  cannot  play  in  to 
morrow's  game,  and  be  a  man." 

Then,  briefly,  he  explained  the  reason. 

"  It  is  raining  still.  Take  my  umbrella," 
he  said  at  the  close  of  his  simply  told  story. 
"  But  tomorrow's  sunshine  will  dry  the  field 
for  the  game,  all  right.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  Vincent  Burgess  said 
hoarsely,  and  plunged  into  the  darkness  and 
the  rain. 

Ten  steps  from  trie  Saxon  House,  he  came 
plump  into  Bond  Saxon,  who  staggered  a 
little  to  avoid  him. 

"  My  luck  on  rainy  nights,"  Vincent 
thought.  "The  old  fellow's  sprees  seem  to 
run  with  the  storms.  He  hasn't  been  'off' 
for  a  long  time." 

But  Bond  Saxon  was  never  more  sober  in 
his  life,  and  he  clutched  the  young  man's 
arm  eagerly. 

"  Professor  Burgess,  won't  you  help  me!" 
he  cried. 


Gain,  or  Loss?  187 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  on  a  night  like 
this?"  Burgess  asked,  remembering  the  vow 
he  had  been  forced  to  make,  by  this  same 
man. 

"  Come  help  me  save  a  man's  life!"  Bond 
urged. 

"Look  here,  Saxon.  You've  got  some 
wild  notion  out  of  a  boot-legger's  bottle. 
Straighten  up  now.  It's  an  infamous  thing 
in  a  college  town  like  Lagonda  Ledge, 
where  neither  a  saloon  nor  a  joint  would  be 
allowed,  that  some  imp  of  Satan  should  for 
ever  be  bringing  you  whisky.  Who  does  it, 
anyhow?" 

"  I'm  not  drunk  and  haven't  been  for  six 
months.  Come  on,  for  God's  sake,  and  help 
me  to  save  a  life,  maybe  two  lives,  from  the 
very  man  that's  done  the  boot-leggin'  and 
robbin'  in  this  town  for  months  and  months." 
Saxon's  words  were  convincing  enough. 

"  What  can  I  do?  "  Burgess  asked.  "  I  'm 
not  a  policeman." 

"Come  on!  Come  on!"  Saxon  urged, 
tugging  at  the  professor's  arm.  "  It's  a  life, 
I  tell  you." 

Vincent  yielded  unwillingly,  the  night, 
the  beating  rain,  the  man  who  asked  it  of 
him,  the  purpose,  his  own  unfitness  —  all 


1 88  A  Master's  Degree 

holding  him  back.  Before  they  had  gone 
far,  Bond  Saxon  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  Say,  Professor,  do  you  remember  the 
night  I  asked  you  to  take  care  of  Dennie  if 
anything  should  happen  to  me?" 

"Do  you  remember  it?"  Burgess  re 
sponded.  "You  didn't  ask;  you  de 
manded." 

"  I  was  drunk  then.  I  'm  sober  now.  Bur 
gess,  if  anything  should  happen  to  me  now, 
would  you  still  be  willing?"  Bond  Saxon 
asked  in  tense  anxiety. 

"  I  Ve  already  taken  oath,"  Burgess  said. 
"  I  think  your  daughter  may  need  some 
body's  care  before  anything  happens  if  you 
keep  up  this  gait." 

They  hurried  on  through  the  rain  until 
they  had  left  the  board  walk  and  the  town 
lights,  and  were  staggering  along  the  cin 
der-made  path,  when  Burgess  halted. 

" Saxon,  who's  the  man,  or  two  men,  you 
want  to  save?  I  believe  you  are  drunk." 

Bond  Saxon  grasped  his  arm,  and  said 
hoarsely: 

"  Don't  shriek  here.  We  are  in  danger, 
now.  It's  not  two  men.  It's  a  man  and  a 
woman,  maybe.  It's  Dean  Funnybone. 
Come  on ! " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  THIEF  IN  THE  MOUTH 

O,  thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine,  if  thou  hast  no. 
name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee,  devil! 

—  SHAKESPEARE 

VTTHEN  Lloyd  Fenneben  could  think 
'*  again,  the  waters  had  receded,  the 
rock  ledge  had  turned  to  a  pillow  under  his 
head,  the  river  bank  was  a  straight  white 
hospital  wall,  sunlight  and  sweet  air  for  the 
darkness  and  the  rain,  and  Norrie  Wream 
was  beside  him  instead  of  the  brutal  stran 
ger.  His  heavy  black  hair  was  shorn  away 
and  his  head  was  bound  with  much  soft  cot 
ton  stuffs.  His  left  arm  was  full  of  prickles, 
as  if  the  blood  had  just  resumed  circulation. 

"And  meantime?"  he  said,  looking  up  at 
Elinor. 

"Yes,  meantime,  it's  June  time,"  Elinor 
replied. 

"Well,  and  what  of  Sunrise?    Did  we  - 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  did.  The  college  first.  The 
ruling  passion,  strong  in  the  hospital.  When 
a  Wream  gets  to  kingdom-come,  he  always 

189 


190  A  Master's  Degree 

asks  Saint  Peter  first  for  a  mortar  board  and 
gown  instead  of  a  crown  and  wings."  Nor- 
rie's  eyes  were  shining.  "And  he's  a  little 
particular  about  the  lining  of  the  wings,  too 
—  Purple,  for  Law;  White,  for  Letters; 
Blue,  for  Philosophy;  Red,  for  Divinity. 
Take  this  quieting  powder.  College  presi 
dents  should  be  seen  and  not  heard."  She 
smilingly  silenced  him. 

Under  her  gentle  ministrations,  Dr.  Fen- 
neben  could  picture  what  comfort  might  be 
in  store  for  Vincent  Burgess  in  a  day,  doubt 
less  only  two  years  away.  He  resented 
Joshua  W  ream's  estimate  of  Elinor.  Surely 
Joshua  had  never  seen  her  in  the  place  of 
nurse. 

"Now,  meantime,  Uncle  Lloyd,"  Elinor 
was  saying,  "commencement  passed  off 
beautifully  under  Acting-Dean  Burgess, 
considering  how  sad  and  heavy-hearted 
everybody  was.  The  trustees  want  to  raise 
Professor  Burgess's  salary  next  year  —  he's 
so  competent. 

Lloyd  Fenneben's  eyes  were  not  ban 
daged,  and  as  he  looked  at  Elinor  he  won 
dered  at  her  utter  lack  of  reserve  and  senti 
ment,  when  she  spoke  of  Burgess  in  such  a 
frank,  matter-of-fact  way.  When  he  was  in 


The  Thief  in  the  Mouth  191 

love    years    ago —  but    times    must    have 
changed. 

"The  arrangements  for  next  year  are  all 
looked  after.  Everything  will  be  done  ex 
actly  as  you  would  have  it  done.  There's 
not  one  thing  to  put  a  worry  into  that  cotton 
round  your  head." 

"  Good !    Now,  tell  me  of  '  beforehand.' ' 
His  smile  was  as  charming  as  ever. 

"In  your  fever  you've  been  telling  us 
about  a  one-armed  man  who  had  two  arms 
to  push  people  into  the  river,  of  his  wanting 
you  to  save  some  child's  life,  and  of  your 
stumbling  over  the  stone.  That's  all  we 
know  about  that.  Bond  Saxon  and  Profes 
sor  Burgess  found  you  in  the  water  at  the 
north  bend  in  the  Walnut  close  to  that  her 
mit  woman's  house.  Either  you  fell  in,  or 
somebody  pushed  you  down  the  bank,  head 
foremost,  and  you  struck  a  ledge  of  rock." 
Elinor's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  now.  "You 
would  have  been  drowned,  if  that  white- 
haired  woman  hadn't  jumped  in  and  held 
your  head  above  water  while  she  clung  to 
the  bushes  with  one  hand.  Her  dog  helped, 
too,  like  a  real  hero.  It  stood  on  the  bank 
and  held  to  her  shawl  that  she  had  fastened 
round  you  to  hold  you.  And  the  river  was 


192  A  Master's  Degree 

rising  so  fast,  too.  It  was  awful.  I  don't 
know  just  how  it  was  all  managed,  Uncle 
Lloyd,  but  it  was  managed  between  the 
woman  and  her  dog  at  first,  and  Professor 
Burgess  and  Bond  Saxon  at  last,  and  you 
are  safe  now,  and  on  the  high  road,  the  very 
elevated  tracks,  to  recovery.  When  your 
fever  was  the  highest,  the  doctors  kept  tell 
ing  me  about  your  splendid  constitution  and 
your  temperate  life.  You  must  get  well 
now." 

She  bent  over  him  and  softly  caressed  his 
hand. 

"Where  is  that  woman  now?  Dennie 
Saxon  asked  me  once  to  do  something  for 
her  in  her  loneliness.  She  got  ahead  of  my 
negligence  and  did  something  for  me,  it 
seems." 

"  She  left  Lagonda  Ledge  the  very  day 
they  rushed  us  up  here  to  the  hospital.  Isn't 
she  strange?  And  she  is  so  gentle  and  sweet, 
but  so  sad.  I  never  saw  such  a  pathetic  face 
as  hers,  Uncle  Lloyd." 

"When  did  you  see  her?"  Fenneben 
asked. 

"She  came  to  ask  after  you.  Nobody 
thought  you  would  get  over  it."  Elinor's 
voice  trembled.  "The  fever  was  burning 


The  Thief  in  the  Mouth  193 

you  up  and  it  took  three  doctors  to  hold  you. 
I  saw  her  face  when  Dennie  Saxon  said  they 
thought  you  wouldn't  pull  through.  Your 
own  sister  couldn't  have  turned  whiter, 
Uncle  Lloyd." 

"And  the  one-armed  man  I  seemed  to  re 
member?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  Ve  been  too  busy  to  ask 
many  questions.  Lagonda  Ledge  is  in 
mourning  for  you.  It  will  run  up  the  flag 
above  half-mast  when  I  write  how  much 
better  you  are.  Bond  Saxon  has  a  theory 
that  some  thief  wanted  to  rob  you  and  de 
coyed  you  away  on  pretense  of  helping 
somebody  out  of  the  river.  You  are  an  easy 
mark,  Uncle." 

"Why  should  Bond  Saxon  have  a  theory? 
And  how  did  he  know  where  to  find  me? 
And  how  did  that  gray-haired  woman  and 
her  dog  happen  in  on  the  scene  just  then? 
This  is  a  grim  sort  of  dime  novel  business, 
Norrie.  Things  don't  fall  out  this  way  in 
real  life  unless  there  is  some  reason  back  of 
them.  I  think  I  '11  bear  investigating." 

"  I  think  so  myself — you  or  your  roman 
tic  rescuing  squad.  You  might  call  the  dog 
to  the  witness  stand  first,  for  he  was  the  first 
on  the  scene.  I  forgot  though  that  the  dog 


194  A  Master's  Degree 

is  dead.  They  found  him  down  the  river 
with  his  throat  cut.  The  plot  thickens." 
Elinor's  frivolous  spirit  was  returning  with 
the  lessening  of  care. 

"  Tell  me  about  the  ball  game,"  Fenneben 
said  next. 

"Oh,  it  rained  for  hours  and  hours,  and 
there  wasn't  any  train  service  for  Lagonda 
Ledge  for  a  week,  and  all  the  Inter-Col 
legiate  Athletic  events  for  the  season  were 
called  off  for  Sunrise-by-the-Walnut." 

"And  the  students,  generally?"  Dr.  Fen 
neben  questioned. 

"Mr.  Trench  will  be  back,"  Elinor  ex 
claimed,  "  and  folks  have  just  found  out  that 
it 's  old  Trench  who 's  keeping  that  crippled 
boy  in  school,  the  one  they  call  '  Limpy.' 
Trench  rustles  jobs  for  him  and  divides 
his  own  income  for  college  expenses  with 
the  boy  for  the  rest  of  the  cost.  I  don't 
know  how  the  story  got  out,  but  I  asked  him 
about  it  when  he  was  up  here  to  see  you. 
He  just  grinned  and  drawled  lazily,  ( I  can 
save  a  little  on  shoe  leather,  that  some  fel 
lows  wear  out  hurrying  so,  and  I  don't  burst 
up  so  many  hats  with  a  swelled  head  as  some 
do.  So  I  keep  a  little  extra  change  on  these 
accounts.  We  're  going  down  to  Oklahoma 


The  Thief  in  the  Mouth          195 

when  we  graduate.  Limpy's  going  to  be  a 
Methodist  preacher  and  I  a  stockman.  I  '11 
keep  him  in  raw  material  for  converts  out 
of  the  cowboys  I'll  have  to  handle.'  Isn't 
old  Trenchy  a  hero?  He  says  Dean  Funny- 
bone  showed  him  how  to  think  about  some 
body  else  beside  Trench  a  little  bit." 

"Oh,  yes;  Trench  is  a  hero  and  I've 
known  about  that  whole  thing  for  a  long 
while,"  the  Dean  asserted.  "And  Victor 
Burleigh?" 

A  shadow  in  the  beautiful  dark  eyes,  a 
half-tone  lowering  of  the  voice,  and  a  gen 
eral  indifference  of  manner,  as  Elinor  an 
swered  : 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  anything  about 
him,  except  that  he's  coming  back  next 
year." 

Dr.  Fenneben  read  the  whole  story  in  the 
words  and  manner  of  the  answer,  and  he 
smiled  grimly  as  he  thought  of  Burgess  and 
of  the  conflict  of  Wream  against  Wream  if 
Elinor  and  his  brother  Joshua  ever  came  to 
the  clash  of  arms.  But  he  was  too  weak  now 
to  direct  matters. 

And  meantime,  while  Lagonda  Ledge 
was  holding  its  breath  in  anxiety  and  dread, 


196  A  Master's  Degree 

and  all  the  churches  were  joining  in  union 
prayer  service  for  the  life  of  their  beloved 
Dean  Fenneben,  and  the  college  year  was 
ending  in  a  halting  between  hope  and  dread 
—  meantime,  the  same  queries  of  Dr.  Fen 
neben  as  to  motives  were  also  queries  in 
Professor  Burgess'  mind. 

To  the  school  and  the  town  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben's  recovery  was  the  only  thing  asked  for. 
There  was  as  yet  no  clew  regarding  the 
cause  of  the  assault.  Bond  Saxon  had 
avoided  Burgess  since  the  event,  so  the 
young  man  himself  made  occasion  to  get 
Bond  up  into  Dr.  Fenneben's  study  one 
June  day  just  before  commencement. 

"Saxon,"  he  said  gravely,  "you  are  a 
man  of  sense,  and  you  know  that  there's 
something  wrong  about  this  Fenneben  as 
sault.  You've  put  up  some  smooth  stories 
about  our  happening  to  be  out  at  the  bend 
of  the  river  that  night,  so  I  guess  suspicion 
will  be  turned  from  us  all  right  when  La- 
gonda  Ledge  gets  time  to  think  about 
causes ;  but  I  must  be  let  into  the  truth  now." 
Burgess  was  adamant  now. 

For  a  little  while  the  old  man  looked 
away  through  the  study  window  at  the 
prairie  empire  to  be  found  for  the  looking. 


The  Thief  In  the  Mouth  197 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  twist  of  blue  smoke 
over  west?"  he  queried  presently. 

"What  of  it?"  Burgess  asked. 

"Nothing,  only  the  man  huddlin'  down 
round  the  fire  makin'  that  smoke  way  down 
where  it's  cold  and  dark,  that's  the  man 
who  —  say,  Professor!" 

Old  Bond  looked  up  appealingly,  and  the 
pitiful  face  touched  Burgess'  heart. 

"What  is  it,  Saxon?  Be  frank  now,  but 
be  fair,  too.  Sooner  or  later,  this  thing  must 
be  run  down.  Fenneben  will  do  it  himself, 
anyhow,  as  soon  as  he's  well  enough." 

"  Professor,  I  have  asked  you  twice  if 
you  'd  be  good  to  Dennie  — 

"Yes,  yes;  you  always  come  back  to  that. 
Anybody  would  be  good  to  her,  and  she 's  a 
capable  girl  who  doesn't  need  anybody's 
care,  anyhow.  Now,  go  on." 

"I  will"  —it  seemed  an  heroic  resolve  — 
"  I  asked  this  for  Dennie,  because  my  own 
life  is  never  safe." 

"  So  you  have  said.  Why  not?"  Burgess 
insisted.  There  was  no  way  to  evade  the 
question  now. 

"That's  my  own  business  —  just  a  little 
longer,"  Bond  answered  slowly.  "  One  thing 
more;  I  want  your  promise  not  to  tell  what 


198  A  Master  s  Degree 

I  say  —  yet  awhile.  It  can't  hurt  anyone  to 
keep  still,  and  it  will  help  some  folks." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  help  you  all  I  can."  Burgess's 
kindly  patience  now  was  strangely  unlike 
the  aristocratic,  resentful  man  to  whom  old 
Bond  Saxon  had  appealed  one  stormy  Octo 
ber  night. 

"  I  'm  a  failure,  Professor.  I  Ve  spoiled 
my  life  by  my  infernal  weak  will  and  appe 
tite  for  whisky.  I  know  it  as  well  as  you  do. 
But  I  'm  not  meant  for  a  bad  man."  There 
was  unspeakable  pathos  in  Saxon's  face  and 
words. 

"  Nobody  would  call  you  bad.  You  are  a 
lovable  man  when  you  —  keep  straight," 
Burgess  declared  cordially. 

"  I  graduated  from  the  university  back  in 
the  sixties,"  Bond  went  on. 

"You!"  Burgess  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  I'm  one  of  your  alumni  brothers 
from  Harvard.  It  takes  more'n  a  college 
diploma  to  make  a  man  sometimes,  although 
this  would  mighty  soon  get  to  be  a  cheap, 
destructible  nation,  if  we  should  pull  the  col 
leges  out  of  it.  The  boys  I  Ve  seen  Sunrise 
make  into  men  does  an  old  man's  heart  good 
to  think  about!  But  there's  more  than  book- 
learning  in  a  Master's  Degree.  There  must 


The  Thief  In  the  Mouth  199 

be  mastery  in  it.  I  never  got  farther 'n  an 
A.B.,  partly  because  Nature  made  me  easy 
going,  but  mostly  because  whisky  ruined  me. 
I  finally  came  to  Kansas.  I  'd  have  had 
tremens  long  ago  but  for  that.  But  even 
here  a  man's  got  to  keep  the  law  inside,  or 
no  human  law  can  prevent  his  making  a 
beast  of  himself." 

Saxon  paused,  and  the  professor  waited. 

"The  man  that  sets  the  cussed  trap  for 
me  is  a  law  breaker,  an  escaped  convict,  and 
a  murderer.  That's  what  drinking  did  for 
him;  drinking  and  injustice  in  money  mat 
ters  together." 

Burgess  started  and  his  face  grew  pale. 

"Oh,  it's  a  fact,  Professor.  There  are 
several  roads  to  ruin.  One  by  the  route  I  Ve 
taken.  One  may  be  too  much  love  of  money, 
of  women,  or  of  having  your  own  way.  You 
can  ruin  your  soul  by  getting  it  set  on  one 
thing  above  everything  else.  Education,  for 
instance,  like  the  Wreams  back  there  in 
Cambridge." 

"The  Wreams!"  Burgess  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  old  Joshua  Wrcam  sold  himself  to 
an  appetite  for  musty  old  Sanscrit  till  he'd 
sacrifice  anybody's  comfort  and  joy  for  it, 
same  as  I  sold  out  to  a  fool's  craving  for 


2OO  A  Master  s  Degree 

drink.  You  '11  know  the  Wreams  sometime 
as  I  know  'em  now.  Fenneben's  only  a  step 
brother  and  the  West  made  a  man  of  him. 
He  was  always  a  gentleman." 

"Go  on!"  Vincent's  voice  was  hardly 
audible. 

"This  outlaw,  boot-legger,  thief,  and 
murderer  was  a  respectable  fellow  once,  the 
adopted  son  of  a  wealthy  family  back  East, 
who  began  by  spoiling  him,  lavished  money 
on  him,  and  let  him  have  his  own  way  in 
everything.  He  was  a  gay  youngster  on  the 
side,  given  to  drinking  and  fast  company. 
He  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl,  but 
when  she  found  him  out,  she  cut  him.  Then 
he  went  to  the  dogs,  blaming  her  because 
she  had  sense  enough  to  throw  him  over 
where  he  belonged.  She  fell  in  love  —  the 
right  kind  of  love  —  with  another  man.  And 
this  young  fool  who  had  no  claim  on  her  at 
all,  swore  vengeance.  Her  family  wanted 
her  to  marry  the  young  sport  because  he  had 
money.  They  were  long  on  money  —  her 
father  was,  anyhow.  But  she  wouldn't 
do  it." 

"  Did  she  marry  the  one  she  really  cared 
for?"  Burgess  asked  eagerly. 

"No;  but  that's  another  story.     Mean- 


The  Thief  in  the  Mouth          20 r 

time  this  fellow's  father  died,  leaving  the 
boy  he,  himself,  had  started  on  the  wrong 
road,  entirely  out  of  his  will.  The  boy  went 
to  the  devil  —  and  he's  still  there." 

Saxon  paused  and  looked  once  more  at  the 
tiny  wavering  smoke  column,  hardly  visible 
now. 

"  He 's  over  yonder  hiding  away  from  the 
light  of  day  under  the  bluffs  by  the  fire  that 
sends  that  curl  of  smoke  up  through  the 
crevices  in  the  rock,  an  outlaw  thief." 

Saxon  gazed  long  at  the  landscape  beyond 
the  Walnut  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was 
with  an  effort. 

"  Professor,  this  outlaw  got  a  hold  on  me 
once  when  I  was  drunk,  drunk  by  his  mak 
ing.  It  would  do  no  good  to  tell  you  about 
that.  You  could  n't  help  me,  nor  harm  him. 
You  '11  trust  me  in  this?  " 

A  picture  of  Dennie  down  in  the  Kick- 
apoo  Corral,  with  the  flickering  firelight  on 
her  rippling  hair,  the  weird,  shadowy  wood 
land,  and  the  old  Indian  legend  all  came 
back  to  the  young  man  now,  though  why  he 
could  not  say. 

"  I  certainly  would  never  bring  harm  to 
you  nor  yours,"  he  said  kindly. 

"  I  can't  inform  on  the  scoundrel.    I  can 


202  A  Master's  Degree 

only  watch  him.  The  woman  he  was  in  love 
with  years  ago,  who  wouldn't  stand  for  his 
wild  ways  — that's  the  gray-haired  woman 
at  Pigeon  Place.  Her  life's  been  one  long 
tragedy,  though  she  is  not  forty  yet." 

The  anguish  on  the  old  man's  face  was 
pitiful  as  he  spoke. 

"  She  has  a  reason  of  her  own  for  living 
here,  and  she  is  the  soul  of  courage.  On  the 
night  of  the  Fenneben  accident,  I  was  out 
her  way  —  yes,  running  away  from  Bond 
Saxon.  I  knew  if  I  stayed  in  town,  I  'd  get 
drunk  on  a  bottle  left  at  my  door.  So  I  tore 
out  in  the  rain  and  the  dark  to  fight  it  out 
with  the  devil  inside  of  me.  And  out  at 
Pigeon  Place  I  run  onto  this  fiend.  When 
I  ordered  him  back  to  his  hiding  place,  he 
vowed  he'd  get  Fenneben  and  put  him  in 
the  river.  There 's  one  or  two  human  things 
about  him  still.  One  is  his  fear  of  little 
children,  and  one  is  his  love  for  that  woman. 
He  really  did  adore  her  years  ago.  I  tracked 
home  after  him,  and  you  know  the  rest.  He 
put  up  some  story  to  the  Dean  to  entice  him 
out  there." 

He  hesitated,  then  ceased  to  speak. 

"  Why  the  Dean?  "  Burgess  asked. 

"  Because  Lloyd  Fenneben 's  the  man  she 


The  Thief  in  the  Mouth          203 

loved  years  ago,  and  her  folks  wouldn't  let 
her  marry,"  Bond  Saxon  said  sadly. 

Burgess  felt  as  if  the  limestone  ridge  was 
giving  way  beneath  him. 

"  Where  is  she  now?  " 

n  She 's  gone,  nobody  knows  where.  I 
hope  to  heaven  she  will  never  come  back," 
the  old  man  replied. 

"And  it  was  she  who  saved  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben's  life?  Does  he  know  who  she  is?" 

" No,  no.  She's  never  let  him  know,  and 
if  she  doesn't  want  him  to  know,  whose 
business  is  it  to  tell  him?"  Saxon  urged. 
"  I  have  hung  about  and  protected  her  when 
she  never  knew  I  was  near.  But  when  I  'm 
drunk,  I'm  an  idiot  and  my  mind  is  bent 
against  her.  I  'd  die  to  save  her,  and  yet  I 
may  kill  her  some  day  when  I  don't  know 
it."  Bond  Saxon's  head  was  drooping  piti 
fully  low. 

"  But  why  live  in  such  slavery?  Why  not 
tell  all  you  know  about  this  man  and  let  the 
law  protect  a  helpless  woman?"  Burgess 
urged. 

Old  Bond  Saxon  looked  up  and  uttered 
only  one  word — "  Dennie! " 

Vincent  Burgess  turned  away  a  moment. 
Dennie!  Yes,  there  was  Dennie. 


204  A  Master's  Degree 

"This  woman  had  a  husband,  you  say?" 
he  asked  presently. 

Bond  Saxon  stared  straight  at  him  and 
slowly  nodded  his  head. 

"What  became  of  him?  Do  you  know?" 
Vincent  questioned. 

Saxon  leaned  forward,  and,  clutching 
Vincent  Burgess  by  the  arm,  whispered 
hoarsely,  "  He's  dead.  I  killed  him.  But  I 
was  drunk  when  I  did  it.  And  this  man 
knows  it  and  holds  me  bound." 


SERVICE 


//  you  were  born  to  honor,  show 
it  now; 

If  put  upon  you,  make  the  judg 
ment  good  that  thought  you 

worthy  of  it. 

—  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SINS  OF  THE  FATHERS 

They  enslave  their  children's  children  who  make 
comprotmse  with  sin. 

—  LOWELL 

F  T  was  mid-December  before  Lloyd  Fen- 
•*•  neben  saw  Lagonda  Ledge  again.  In 
the  murderous  attempt  upon  his  life,  he  had 
been  hurled,  head-downward,  upon  the  hid 
den  rock-ledge  with  such  force  that  even  his 
strong  nervous  system  could  barely  over 
come  the  shock.  Hours  of  unconsciousness 
were  followed  by  a  raging  brain  fever,  and. 
paralysis,  insanity,  and  death  strove  together 
against  him.  His  final  complete  recovery 
was  slow,  and  he  was  wise  enough  to  let 
nature  have  ample  time  for  rebuilding  what 
had  been  so  cruelly  wrenched  out  of  line.  It 
was  this  very  patience  and  willingness  to 
take  life  calmly,  when  most  men  would  have 
been  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  about  neglected 
business,  that  brought  Lloyd  Fenneben  back 
to  Lagonda  Ledge  in  December,  a  perfectly 

207 


208  A  Master's  Degree 

well  man ;  and  aside  from  the  holiday  given 
in  honor  of  the  event,  aside  from  the  display 
of  flags  and  the  big  "Welcome"  done  in 
electric  lights  awaiting  him  at  the  railroad 
station,  where  all  the  portable  population 
of  Lagonda  Ledge  and  most  of  the  Walnut 
Valley,  headed  by  the  Sunrise  contingent, 
en  masse,  seemed  to  be  waiting. also  —  aside 
from  the  demonstration  and  general  hilar 
ity  and  thanksgiving  and  rejoicing,  there 
seemed  no  difference  between  the  Dean  of 
the  days  that  followed  and  the  Dean  of  the 
years  before.  His  black  hair  was  as  long  and 
heavy  as  ever.  His  black  eyes  had  lost  noth 
ing  of  their  keenness.  His  smile  was  just 
the  same  old,  genial  outbreak  of  good  will, 
as  he  heard  the  wildly  enthusiastic  refrain: 

Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah!  RAH!!  RAH!!! 

It  was  twilight  when  the  train  pulled  up 
to  the  station.  The  December  evening  was 
clear  and  crisp  as  southern  Kansas  Decem 
bers  usually  are.  The  lights  of  the  town 
were  twinkling  in  the  dusk.  Out  beyond  the 
river  a  gorgeous  purple  and  scarlet  after- 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  209 

sunset  glow  was  filling  the  west  with  that 
magnificence  of  coloring  only  the  hand  of 
Nature  dares  to  paint. 

Several  passengers  left  the  train,  but  the 
company  had  eyes  only  for  the  Pullman  car 
where  Fenneben  was  riding.  Nobody,  ex 
cept  Bond  Saxon,  and  a  cab  driver  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  noticed  a  gray-haired 
woman  who  alighted  so  quietly  and  slipped 
to  the  cab  so  quickly  that  she  was  almost 
out  to  Pigeon  Place  before  Fenneben  had 
been  able  to  clear  the  platform. 

Behind  the  Dean  was  his  niece,  who 
halted  on  the  car  steps  while  her  uncle  went 
into  the  outstretched  arms  of  Lagonda 
Ledge.  At  sight  of  her,  the  hats  went  high 
in  air,  as  she  stood  there  smiling  above  the 
crowd.  It  was  Maytime  when  she  went 
away.  They  had  remembered  her  in  dainty 
Maytime  gowns.  They  were  not  prepared 
for  her  in  her  handsome  traveling  costume 
of  golden  brown,  her  brown  beaver  hat,  and 
pretty  furs.  A  beautiful  girl  can  be  so 
charming  in  her  winter  feathers.  She  had 
expected  that  Burgess  would  be  first  to  meet 
her,  and  she  was  ready,  she  thought,  to  greet 
him,  becomingly.  But  as  the  porter  helped 
her  to  the  platform,  the  crowd  closed  in, 


2io  A  Master  s  Degree 

shutting  him  away  momentarily,  and  a  hand 
caught  hers,  a  big,  strong  hand  whose  clasp, 
so  close  and  warm,  seemed  to  hold  her  hand 
by  right  of  eternal  possession.  And  Victor 
Burleigh's  brown  eyes  full  of  a  joyous  light 
were  looking  down  at  her.  It  was  all  such 
a  sweet,  shadowy  time  that  nobody  crowding 
about  them  could  see  clearly  how  Elinor, 
with  shining  face,  nestled  involuntarily  close 
to  his  arm  for  just  one  instant,  and  her  low 
murmured  words,  "  I  am  glad  you  were 
first,"  were  lost  to  all  but  the  big  fellow 
before  her,  and  a  bigger,  vastly  lazy  fellow, 
Trench,  just  behind  her.  It  was:  Trench's 
bulk  that  had  blocked  the  way  for  the  pro 
fessor  a  moment  before.  Then  she  was  swal 
lowed  in  the  jolly  greetings  of  goodfellow- 
ship,  and  Vincent  Burgess  carried  her  away 
to  the  carriage  where  her  uncle  waited. 

"The  thing  is  settled  now,"  the  young 
folks  thought.  But  Dennie  Saxon  and 
Trench,  who  walked  home  together,  knew 
that  many  things  were  hopelessly  unsettled. 
By  the  law  of  natural  fitness,  Dennie  and 
Trench  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  each 
other.  They  were  so  alike  in  goodness  of 
heart  But  such  mating  of  like  with  like,  is 
rare,  and  under  its  ruling  the  world  would 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  211 

grow  so  monotonously  good,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  bad,  on  the  other,  that  life  would 
be  uninteresting. 

During  Dr.  Fenneben's  absence,  Profes 
sor  Burgess  was  acting-dean.  For  a  man 
who,  two  years  before,  had  never  heard  of 
a  Jayhawker,  who  hoped  the  barren  prairies 
would  furnish  seclusion  for  profound  re 
search  in  his  library,  and  whose  interest  in 
the  student  body  lay  in  its  material  to  fur 
nish  "  types,"  Dean  Burgess,  on  the  outside, 
certainly  measured  up  well  toward  the  stat 
ure  of  the  real  Dean  —  broad-minded,  be 
loved  "  Funnybone." 

And  as  Vincent  Burgess  grew  in  breadth 
of  view  and  human  interest,  his  popularity 
increased  and  his  opportunities  multiplied. 
Sunrise  forgot  that  it  had  ever  regarded  him 
as  a  walking  Greek  textbook  in  paper  bind 
ing.  Next  to  Dr.  Lloyd  Fenneben,  his  place 
at  Sunrise  would  be  the  hardest  to  fill  now; 
and  withal,  sometime  in  the  near  future, 
there  was  waiting  for  him  the  prettiest  girl 
that  ever  climbed  the  steps  from  the  lower 
campus  to  the  Sunrise  door.  Burgess  had 
never  dreamed  that  life  in  Kansas  could  be 
so  full  of  pleasure  for  him. 

And  all  the  while,  on  the  inside,  another 


212  A  Master's  Degree 

Burgess  was  growing  up  who  quarreled 
daily  with  this  happy  outer  Burgess.  This 
inner  man  it  was  who  held  the  secret 
of  Bond  Saxon's  awful  crime;  the  man 
who  knew  the  life  story  of  the  would-be 
assassin  of  Lloyd  Fenneben,  and  who 
knew  the  tragedy  that  had  turned  a  fair- 
faced  girl  to  a  gray-haired  woman,  yet 
young  in  years.  He  knew  the  tragedy, 
but  the  woman  herself  he  had  never  seen, 
save  in  the  darkness  and  rain  of  that 
awful  night  when  she  had  held  Lloyd  Fen- 
neben's  head  above  the  fast  rising  waters 
of  the  Walnut.  He  had  never  even  heard 
her  voice,  for  he  had  sustained  the  limp 
body  of  Dr.  Fenneben  while  Saxon  helped 
the  woman  from  the  river  and  as  far  as  to 
her  own  gate.  But  these  were  secret  things 
outside  of  his  own  conscience.  Inside  of  his 
conscience  the  real  battle  was  fought  and 
won,  and  lost,  only  to  be  won  and  lost  over 
and  over.  So  long  as  Elinor  Wream  was 
away,  he  could  stay  execution  on  himself. 
The  same  train  that  brought  her  home  to 
Lagonda  Ledge,  brought  a  letter  to  Profes 
sor  Vincent  Burgess,  A.B.  The  letter  head 
ing  bore  as  many  of  Dr.  Joshua  Wream's 
titles  as  space  would  permit,  but  the 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  213 

cramped,  old-fashioned  handwriting  be 
longed  to  a  man  of  more  than  fourscore 
years,  and  it  was  signed  just  "  J.  R." 

Burgess  read  this  letter  many  times  that 
night  after  he  returned  from  dinner  at  the 
Fenneben  home.  And  sometimes  his  fists 
were  clinched  and  sometimes  his  blue  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  Then  he  remembered 
little  Bug,  who  had  declared  once  that 
"  Don  Fonnybone  was  dood  for  twouble- 


ness." 


"  I  can't  take  this  to  Fenneben,"  he  mused, 
as  he  read  Joshua  Wream's  letter  for  the 
tenth  time.  "  Nor  can  I  go  to  Saxon.  He's 
never  sure  of  himself  and  when  he's  drunk, 
he  reverses  himself  and  turns  against  his  best 
friends.  And  who  am  I  to  turn  to  a  man 
like  Bond  Saxon  for  my  confidences?" 

"  What  about  Elinor?  "  came  a  voice  from 
somewhere.  "  The  woman  you  would  make 
your  wife  should  be  the  one  to  whose  loving 
sympathy  you  could  turn  at  any  of  life's 
angles,  else  that  were  no  real  marriage." 

"  Elinor,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  the 
very  last.  She  shall  never  know,  never!" 
So  he  answered  the  inward  questioner. 

Dimly  then  rose  up  before  him  the  pic 
ture  of  Victor  Burleigh  on  the  rainy  May 


214  A  Master's  Degree 

night  when  he  stood  beside  little  Bug 
Buler's  bed  —  Victor  Burleigh,  with  his 
white,  sorrowful  face,  and  burning  brown 
eyes,  telling  in  a  voice  like  music  the  reason 
why  he  must  renounce  athletic  honors  in 
Sunrise. 

Burgess  had  been  unconsciously  exultant 
over  the  boy's  confession.  It  would  put  the 
confessor  out  of  reach  of  any  claim  to 
Elinor's  friendship  when  the  truth  was 
known  about  his  poverty  and  his  profes 
sional  playing.  And  yet  he  had  followed 
Bond  Saxon's  lead  the  more  willingly  that 
night  that  he  was  hating  himself  for  re 
joicing  with  himself. 

On  this  December  night,  with  Elinor  once 
more  in  Lagonda  Ledge,  Victor  Burleigh 
must  come  again  to  trouble  him.  What  a 
price  that  boy  must  have  paid  for  his  hon 
esty!  But  he  paid  it,  aye,  he  paid  it!  And 
then  the  rains  put  out  the  game  and  nobody 
knew  except  Burleigh  and  himself.  Bur 
gess  almost  resented  the  kindness  of  Fate  to 
the  heroic  boy.  But  all  this  solved  no  prob 
lems  for  Vincent  Burgess,  except  the  real 
ization  that  here  was  one  fellow  who  had 
a  soul  of  courage.  Could  he  confide  in  Bur 
leigh?  Not  in  a  thousand  years! 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  215 

In  utter  loneliness,  Vincent  Burgess  put 
out  his  light  and  stared  at  the  window.  The 
street  lamps  glowed  in  lonely  fashion,  for  it 
was  very  late,  and  nobody  was  abroad.  Up 
on  the  limestone  ridge,  the  Sunrise  beacon 
shone  bravely.  Down  in  town  beside  the 
campus  gate  —  he  could  just  catch  a  glimpse 
of  one  steady  beam.  It  was  the  faithful 
old  lamp  in  the  hallway  of  the  Saxon 
House,  and  beyond  that  unwavering  light 
was  Dennie. 

"Dennie!  Why  have  I  not  thought  of 
her?  The  only  one  in  the  world  whom  I 
can  fully  trust.  That  ought  to  be  a  man's 
sweetheart,  I  suppose,  but  she  is  not  mine. 
She  is  just  Dennie.  Heaven  bless  her!  I've 
sworn  to  care  for  her.  She  must  help  me 
now."  And  with  the  comforting  thought, 
he  fell  asleep  beside  the  window. 

The  December  sunset  was  superb  in  a 
glory  of  endless  purple  mists  and  rose-tinted 
splendor  of  far-reaching  skies.  The  evening 
drops  down  early  at  this  season  and  the 
lights  were  gleaming  here  and  there  in  the 
town  where  the  shadows  fall  soonest  before 
the  day's  work  is  finished  up  in  Sunrise. 

Victor  Burleigh,  who  had  been  called  to 


216  A  Master's  Degree 

Dr.  Fenneben's  study,  found  only  Elinor 
there,  looking  out  at  the  radiant  beauty  of 
the  sunset  sky  beyond  the  homey  shadows 
studded  with  the  twinkling  lights  of  La- 
gonda  Ledge  at  the  foot  of  the  slope.  The 
young  man  hesitated  a  little  before  entering. 
All  day  the  school  had  been  busy  settling 
affairs  for  Professor  Burgess  and  "Norrie, 
the  beloved."  Gossip  has  swift  feet  and 
from  surmise  to  fact  is  a  short  course. 
Twenty-four  hours  had  quite  completely 
"  fixed  things"  for  Elinor  Wream  and  Vin 
cent  Burgess,  so  far  as  Sunrise  and  Lagonda 
Ledge  were  able  to  fix  them.  So  Burleigh, 
whose  strong  face  carried  no  hint  of  grief, 
held  back  a  minute  now,  before  entering 
the  study. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Elinor.  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben  sent  for  me." 

Somehow  the  deep  musical  voice  and  her 
name  pronounced  as  nobody  else  ever  could 
pronounce  it,  and  the  big  manly  form  and 
brave  face,  all  seemed  to  complete  the  spell 
of  the  sunset  hour.  Elinor  did  not  speak, 
but  with  a  smile  made  room  for  him  beside 
her  at  the  window,  and  the  two  looked  long 
at  the  deepening  grandeur  of  the  heavens 
and  the  misty  shadows  of  heliotrope  and  sil- 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  217 

ver  darkening  softly  to  the  twilight  below 
them. 

uAnd  God  saw  that  it  was  good.  And  the 
evening  and  the  morning  were  the  fourth 
day,"  Victor  said  at  last. 

"Your  voice  grows  richer  with  the  pass 
ing  years,  Victor,"  Elinor  said  softly.  "  I 
wanted  to  hear  it  again  the  first  time  I  heard 
you  speak  out  there  one  September  day." 

"  It  is  well  to  grow  rich  in  something," 
Victor  said,  half-earnestly,  half-carelessly. 

Before  Elinor  could  say  more,  they  caught 
sight  of  Professor  Burgess  and  Dennie 
Saxon,  leaving  the  front  portico  as  they 
had  done  on  the  May  evening  before  the 
assault  on  Dr.  Fenneben.  Burgess  and  Den 
nie  usually  left  the  building  together  this 
year. 

"Isn't  Dennie  a  darling?"  Elinor  said 
calmly. 

"  I  guess  so,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't  just 
know  what  makes  a  girl  a  darling  to  another 
girl.  I  only  know"  -he  was  on  thin  ice 
now — "and  I  don't  even  know  that  very 
well." 

They  turned  to  the  landscape  again.  The 
whole  building  was  growing  quiet.  Foot 
steps  were  fading  away  down  the  halls. 


2i8  A  Master  s  Degree 

Doors  clicked  faintly  here  and  there.  Some 
body  was  singing  softly  in  the  basement 
laboratory,  and  the  sunset  sky  was  exqui 
sitely  lovely  above  the  quiet  gray  Decem 
ber  prairies. 

"  It  is  too  beautiful  to  last,"  Elinor  said, 
turning  to  the  young  man  beside  her.  "  The 
joy  of  it  is  too  deep  for  us  to  hold." 

She  did  not  mean  to  stay  a  moment  longer, 
for  all  the  scene  could  be  hers  forever  in 
memory  —  imperishable!  —  and  Victor  did 
not  mean  to  detain  her.  But  her  face  as  she 
turned  from  the  window,  the  hallowed  set 
ting  of  time  and  opportunity,  and  a  heart- 
love  hungering  through  hopeless,  slow- 
dragging  months,  all  had  their  own  way 
with  him.  He  put  out  his  arms  to  her  and 
she  nestled  within  them,  lifting  a  face  to 
his  own  transfigured  with  love's  sweetness. 
And  he  bent  and  kissed  her  red  lips,  holding 
her  close  in  his  arms.  And  in  the  shadowy 
twilight,  with  the  faintly  roseate  banners  of 
the  sunset's  after-glow  trailing  through  it, 
for  just  one  minute,  heaven  and  earth  came 
very  near  together  for  these  two.  And  then 
they  remembered,  and  Elinor  put  her  hand 
in  Victor's,,  who  held  it  in  his  without  a 
word. 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  219 

Out  in  the  hall,  Trench  with  soft  lazy 
step  had  just  come  to  the  study  door  in  time 
to  see  and  turn  away  unseen,  and  slowly 
pass  out  of  the  big  front  door,  whistling 
low  the  while: 

My  sweetheart  lives  on  the  prairies  wide 

By  the  sandy  Cimarron, 
In  a  day  to  come  she  will  be  my  bride, 

By  the  sandy  Cimarron. 

Out  by  the  big  stone  pillars  of  the 
portico,  he  looked  toward  the  south  turret 
and  saw  Dr.  Fenneben  as  Vic  had  seen 
Elinor  on  the  evening  of  the  May  storm. 
He  did  not  call,  but  with  a  twist  of  the 
fingers  as  of  unlocking  a  door,  he  dodged 
back  into  the  building  and  up  to  the  chapel 
end  of  the  turret  stairs  to  release  the  Dean. 

Dr.  Fenneben  had  started  down  to  the 
study  by  the  same  old  "  road  to  perdition" 
stairs  and  paused  at  the  window  as  Dennie 
and  Burgess  were  passing  out,  unconscious 
of  three  pairs  of  eyes  on  them.  Then  the 
Dean  saw  down  through  the  half-open  study 
door  the  two  young  people  by  the  window, 
and  he  knew  he  was  not  needed  there.  What 
that  look  in  his  black  eyes  meant,  as  he 
turned  to  the  half-way  window  of  the  tur- 


22O  A  Master's  Degree 

ret,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  read.  And 
the  picture  of  a  fair-faced  girl  came  back  to 
his  own  hungry  memory.  He  was  trying  to 
calculate  the  distance  from  the  turret  win 
dow  to  the  ground  when  Trench  wig 
wagged  a  rescue  signal. 

"  You  are  a  brick,  Trench,"  he  said,  as  the 
upper  stairway  door  swung  open  to  release 
him. 

"You've  the  whole  chimney,"  Trench 
responded,  as  he  swung  himself  away. 

Dr.  Fenneben  met  Elinor  in  the  ro 
tunda. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Norrie,  and  I'll  walk 
home  with  you." 

In  the  study  he  met  Burleigh,  whose  stern 
face  was  tender  with  a  pathetic  sadness,  but 
there  was  no  embarrassment  in  his  glance. 
And  Fenneben,  being  a  man  himself,  knew 
what  power  for  sacrifice  lay  back  of  those 
beautiful  eyes. 

"  I  can't  give  him  the  message  I  meant  to 
give  now.  The  man  said  there  was  no  hurry. 
A  veritable  tramp  he  looked  to  be.  I  hope 
there  is  no  harm  to  the  boy  in  it.  Why  should 
a  girl  like  Norrie  love  the  pocketbook,  and 
the  things  of  the  pocketbook,  when  a  heart 
like  Victor  Burleigh's  calls  to  her?  I  know 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  221 

men.  I  never  shall  know  women."  So  he 
thought.  Aloud  he  said:  "  I  was  detained, 
Burleigh,  and  I  '11  have  to  see  you  again.  I 
have  some  matters  to  consider  with  you 


soon." 


And  Burleigh  wondered  much  what 
"  some  matters"  might  be. 

When  Professor  Burgess  left  Dennie  he 
said,  lightly: 

"  Miss  Dennie,  I  need  a  little  help  in  my 
work.  Would  you  let  me  call  this  evening 
and  talk  it  over  with  you?  I  don't  believe 
anybody  else  would  get  hold  of  it  quite  so 
well."  " 

Dennie  had  supposed  this  first  evening 
after  Elinor's  return  would  find  her  lover 
making  use  of  it.  Why  should  Dennie  not 
feel  a  thrill  of  pleasure  that  her  services  out 
weighed  everything  else?  Poor  Dennie! 
She  was  no  flirt,  but  much  association  with 
Vincent  Burgess  had  given  her  insight  to 
know  that  Norrie  Wream  would  never  un 
derstand  him. 

When  Burgess  returned  to  the  Saxon 
House  later  in  the  evening,  he  met  Bond 
Saxon  at  the  door. 

"  Say,  Professor,  the  devil  will  be  to  pay 
again.  That  Mrs.  Marian  is  back.  Got 


222  A  Master's  Degree 

here  on  the  same  train  Funnybone  came  on. 
And,"  lowering  his  voice,  "  he  will  be  over 
there  again,"  pointing  toward  the  west 
bluffs.  "He'll  hound  Funnybone  to  his 
doom  yet.  And  she  —  she'll  stand  between 
'em  to  the  last.  I  told  you  one  of  the 
two  human  traits  left  in  that  beast  is 
his  fool  fondness  for  that  woman  who 
wouldn't  let  him  set  foot  on  her  ground 
if  she  knew  it.  It's  a  grim  tragedy  being 
played  out  here  with  nobody  knowing  but 
you  and  me." 

"  Saxon,  I  'm  in  no  mood  for  all  this  to 
night,"  Burgess  said,  "but  for  your  daugh 
ter's  sake  keep  away  from  the  man's  bottle 


now." 


"  Yes,  for  Dennie's  sake—  Bond  looked 
imploringly  at  Burgess. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  '11  do  my  duty  as  I  promised. 
But  why  not  do  it  yourself  toward  her? 
Why  not  be  a  man  and  a  father?  " 

"Me!  A  criminal!  Do  you  know  what 
that  kind  of  slavery  is?"  Saxon  whispered. 

"Almost,"  Burgess  answered,  but  the  old 
man  did  not  catch  his  meaning. 

Dennie  was  waiting  in  the  parlor,  a  cosy 
little  room  but  without  the  luxurious  ap 
pointments  of  Norrie  Wream's  home.  Yet 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  223 

tonight  Dennie  seemed  beautiful  to  Bur 
gess,  and  this  quiet  little  room,  a  haven  of 
safety. 

"  Dennie,"  he  said,  plunging  into  his  pur 
pose  at  once.  "  I  come  to  you  because  I  need 
a  friend  and  you  are  tempered  steel." 

Tonight  Dennie's  gray  eyes  were  dark  and 
shining.  The  rippling  waves  of  yellow 
brown  hair  gave  a  sort  of  Madonna  outline 
to  her  face,  and  there  wras  about  her  some 
thing  indefinably  pleasant. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Professor 
Burgess?"  she  asked. 

Listen  to  me,  Dennie,  and  then  advise 


me." 


Was  this  the  acting-dean  of  Sunrise,  a 
second  Fenneben,  already  declared?  His 
face  was  full  of  pathos,  yet  even  in  his  fever 
ish  grief  it  seemed  a  better  face  to  Dennie 
than  the  cold  scholarly  countenance  of  two 
years  ago. 

"  My  troubles  go  back  a  long  way.  My 
father  was  given  to  greed.  He  sold  himself 
and  my  sister's  happiness  and  mine  for 
money.  You  think  your  father  is  a  slave, 
Dennie,  because  he  has  a  craving  forwhisky. 
Less  than  half  a  dozen  times  a  year  the 
demon  inside  gets  him  down." 


224  -A  Master's  Degree 

Dennie  looked  up  with  a  sorrowful  face. 

"Yes,  but  think  of  what  he  might  do. 
You  don't  know  what  dreadful  things  he 
has  done — " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  He  told  me  himself  the  very 
worst.  I  '11  never  betray  him,  Dennie.  His 
punishment  is  heavy  enough." 

Burgess  laid  his  hand  on  her  dimpled 
hand  in  token  of  sincerity. 

"But  that's  only  rarely,  little  girl.  My 
father  every  day  in  the  year  gave  himself 
to  an  appetite  for  money  till  he  cared  for 
nothing  else.  My  sister,  who  died  believ 
ing  that  I  also  had  turned  against  her,  was 
forced  to  marry  a  man  she  did  not  love  be 
cause  he  had  money.  I  never  knew  the 
man  she  did  love.  It  was  a  romance  of 
her  girlhood.  I  was  away  from  home  the 
most  of  my  boyhood  years,  and  she  never 
mentioned  his  name  after  the  affair  was 
broken  off.  All  I  know  is  that  she  was  de 
ceived  and  made  to  believe  some  cruel 
story  against  him.  She  and  her  husband 
came  West,  where  they  died.  My  father 
never  forgave  them  for  going  West,  nor 
permitted  me  to  speak  her  name  to  him. 
I  never  knew  why  until  yesterday.  My  sis 
ter's  husband  had  a  brother  out  here  with 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  225 

whom  he  meant  to  divide  some  possessions 
he  had  inherited.  That  settled  him  with  my 
father  forever.  There  was  no  division  of 
property  in  his  creed." 

Burgess  paused.  Dennie's  interest  and 
sympathy  made  her  silent  company  a  com 
fort. 

"  I  was  heir  to  my  father's  estate,  and  heir 
also  to  some  funds  he  held  in  trust.  I  was  a 
scholar  with  ambition  for  honors  —  a  Mas 
ter's  Degree  and  a  high  professional  place 
in  a  great  university.  I  trusted  my  whole 
life  plans  to  the  man  who  knew  my  father 
best  —  Dr.  Joshua  Wream." 

Dennie  looked  up,  questioningly. 

"Yes,  to  Elinor's  uncle,  as  unlike  Dr. 
Fenneben  as  night  and  day." 

"  Do  not  blame  me,  Dennie,  if  two  men 
have  helped  to  misshape  my  life.  My  father 
believed  that  money  is  absolute.  Dr.  Wream 
holds  scholarly  achievement  as  the  greatest 
life  work.  It  has  been  Dr.  Fenneben's  part 
to  show  me  the  danger  and  the  power  in 
each." 

It  was  dimly  dawning  on  Burgess  that 
the  presence  of  Dennie,  good,  sensible 
Dennie,  was  a  blessing  outside  of  these 
things  that  could  go  far  toward  making  life 


226  A  Master's  Degree 

successful.  But  he  did  not  grasp  it  clearly 
yet. 

"Dr.  Wream  and  I  made  a  compact 
before  I  came  West.  It  seemed  fair  to  me 
then.  By  its  terms  I  was  assured,  first,  of 
my  right  to  certain  funds  my  father  held  in 
trust.  It  was  Wream  who  secured  these 
rights  for  me.  Second,  I  was  to  succeed  to 
his  chair  in  Harvard  if  I  proved  worthy  in 
Sunrise.  In  return  I  promised  to  marry 
Elinor  Wream  and  to  provide  for  her  com 
fort  and  luxury  with  these  trust  funds  my 
father  and  Wream  had  somehow  been 
manipulating." 

Oh,  yes!  Dennie  was  level-headed.  And 
because  she  did  not  look  up  nor  cry  out 
Vincent  Burgess  did  not  see  nor  guess  any 
thing.  His  life  had  been  a  sheltered  one. 
How  could  he  measure  Dennie 's  life-dis 
cipline  in  self-control  and  loving  bravery? 

"  Elinor  was  heavy  on  Wream's  con 
science,"  Vincent  went  on,  "because  he  and 
her  father,  Dr.  Nathan  Wream,  took  the 
fortune  to  endow  colleges  and  university 
chairs  that  should  have  been  hers  from  her 
mother's  estate.  You  see,  Dennie,  there  was 
no  wrong  in  the  plan.  Elinor  would  be  pro 
vided  for  by  me.  I  would  get  up  in  my 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  227 

chosen  profession.  Nobody  was  robbed  or 
defrauded.  Joshua  Wream's  last  years 
would  be  peaceful  with  his  conscience  at 
rest  regarding  Elinor's  property.  And, 
Dennie,  who  would  n't  want  to  marry  Elinor 
Wream?" 

"Yes,  who  wouldn't?"  Dennie  looked 
up  with  a  smile.  And  if  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes  Burgess  knew  they  were  born  of 
Dennie's  sweet  spirit  of  sympathy. 

"What  is  wrong,  then?"  she  asked.  "Is 
Elinor  unwilling?" 

"Elinor  and  I  are  bound  by  promises  to 
each  other,  although  no  word  has  ever  been 
spoken  between  us.  It  is  impossible  to  make 
any  change  now.  We  are  very  happy,  of 


course." 


"Of  course,"  Dennie  echoed. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Dr.  Wream  last 
night.  A  pitiful  letter,  for  he 's  getting  near 
the  brink.  Dennie  —  these  funds  I  hold- 
I  have  never  quite  understood,  but  I  had 
felt  sure  there  was  no  other  claimant.  There 
was  a  clause  in  the  strangely-worded  be 
quest:  'for  V.  B.  and  his  heirs.  Failing  in 
that,  to  the  nearest  related  V.  B.'  It  was  a 
thing  for  lawyers,  not  Greek  professors,  to 
settle,  and  I  came  to  be  the  nearest  related 


228  A  Master  s  Degree 

V.  B.,  Vincent  Burgess,  for  I  find  the  money 
belonged  to  my  sister's  husband,  and  I 
thought  he  left  no  heirs  and  I  am  the  nearest 
related  V.  B.  by  marriage,  you  see?  " 

"  Well  ?  "  Dennie's  mind  was  jumping  to 
the  end. 

"  My  sister  married  a  Victor  Burleigh, 
who  came  to  Kansas  to  find  his  brother. 
Both  men  are  dead  now.  The  only  one  of 
the  two  families  living  is  this  brother's  son, 
young  Victor  Burleigh,  junior  in  Sunrise 
College.  He  knows  nothing  of  his  Uncle 
Victor,  my  brother-in-law  —  nor  of  money 
that  he  might  claim.  He  belongs  to  the  soil 
out  here.  Nobody  has  any  claims  on  him, 
nor  has  he  any  ambition  for  a  chair  in  Har 
vard,  nor  any  promise  to  marry  and  provide 
for  a  beautiful  girl  who  looks  upon  him  as 
her  future  guardian." 

Vincent  Burgess  suddenly  ceased  speak 
ing  and  looked  at  Dennie. 

<r  I  cannot  break  an  old  man's  heart.  He 
implores  me  not  to  reveal  all  this,  but  I  had 
to  tell  somebody,  and  you  are  the  best  friend 
a  man  could  ever  have,  Dennie  Saxon,  so  I 
come  to  you,"  he  added  presently. 

"When  did  this  Dr.  Wream  find  out 
about  Vic?"  Dennie  asked. 


The  Sins  of  the  Fathers  229 

i 

"A  month  ago.  Some  strange-looking 
tramp  of  a  fellow  brought  him  proofs  that 
are  incontestable,"  Burgess  replied. 

"And  it  is  for  an  old  man's  peace  you 
would  keep  this  secret?  "  Dennie  questioned. 

"  For  him  and  for  Elinor  —  and  for  my 
self.  Don't  hate  me,  Dennie.  Elinor  looks 
upon  me  as  her  future  husband.  I  have 
promised  to  provide  for  her  with  the  com 
forts  denied  her  by  her  father,  and  I  have 
lived  in  the  ambition  of  holding  that  Har 
vard  chair  —  Oh,  it  is  all  a  hopeless  tangle. 
I  could  never  go  to  Victor  Burleigh  now. 
He  would  not  believe  that  I  had  been  igno 
rant  of  his  claim  all  this  time.  He  was 
never  wrapped  up  in  the  pursuit  of  a  career 
—  Oh,  Dennie,  Dennie,  what  shall  1  do?" 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  Dennie  stood  up 
before  him.  He  gently  rested  his  hands  on 
her  shoulders  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"What  shall  you  do?"  Dennie  repeated,* 
slowly.  "Whisky,  Money,  Ambition  —  the 
appetite  that  destroys!  Vincent  Burgess,  if 
you  want  to  win  a  Master's  Degree,  win  to 
the  Mastery  of  Manhood  first.  The  sins  of 
the  fathers,  yours  and  mine,  we  cannot  undo. 
But  you  can  be  a  man." 

She  had  put  her  dimpled  hands  on  his 


230  A  Master's  Degree 

arms  as  they  stood  there,  and  the  brave  cour 
age  of  her  upturned  face  called  back  again 
the  rainy  May  night,  and  the  face  of  Victor 
Burleigh  beside  Bug  Buler's  cot,  and  his  low 
voice  as  he  said : 

"  I  cannot  play  in  tomorrow's  game  and 
be  a  man." 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  SILVER  PITCHER 

A  picket  frozen  on  duty  — 

A  mother  starved  for  her  brood  — 
Socrates  drinking  the  hemlock, 

And  Jesus  on  the  rood. 
And  millions  who,  humble  and  nameless, 

The  straight  hard  pathway  trod  — 
Some  call  it  Consecration, 

And  others  call  it  God. 

—  WILLIAM  HERBERT  CARRUTH 

.  FENNEBEN,  I  should  like 
much  to  dismiss  my  classes  for  the 
afternoon,"  Professor  Burgess  said  to  the 
Dean  in  his  study  the  next  day. 

"Very  well,  Professor,  I  am  afraid  you 
are  overworked  with  all  my  duties  added  to 
yours  here.  But  you  don't  look  it,"  Fenne- 
ben  said,  smiling. 

Burgess  was  growing  almost  stalwart  in 
this  gracious  climate. 

"  I  am  very  well,  Doctor.  What  a  beau 
tiful  view  this  is."  He  was  looking  intently 
now  at  the  Empire  that  had  failed  to  inter 
est  him  once. 

231 


232  A  Master's  Degree 

"Yes;  it  is  my  inspiration.  l  Each  man's 
chimney  is  his  golden  milestone,' "  Fenne- 
ben  quoted.  "  I  Ve  watched  the  smoke  from 
many  chimneys  up  and  down  the  Walnut 
Valley  during  my  years  here,  and  later  I  Ve 
hunted  out  the  people  of  each  hearthstone 
and  made  friends  with  them.  So  when  I 
look  away  from  my  work  here  I  see  friendly 
tokens  of  those  I  know  out  there."  He 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  whole  valley. 
"  And  maybe,  when  they  look  up  here  and 
see  the  dome  by  day,  or  catch  our  beacon 
light  by  night,  they  think  of  '  Funnybone,' 
too.  It  is  well  to  live  close  to  the  folks  of 
your  valley  always." 

"You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Doctor," 
Burgess  said. 

"  There  are  two  *  milestones '  I  Ve  never 
reached,"  the  Doctor  went  on.  "  One  is  that 
place  by  the  bend  in  the  river.  See  the 
pigeons  rising  above  it  now.  I  wonder  if 
that  strange  white-haired  woman  ever  came 
back  again.  Elinor  said  she  left  Lagonda 
Ledge  last  summer." 

a  Where's  the  other  place?"  Burgess 
would  change  the  subject. 

"  It  is  a  little  shaft  of  blue  smoke  from  a 
wood  fire  rising  above  those  rocky  places 


The  Silver  Pitcher  233 

across  the  river.  I  Ve  seen  it  so  often,  at 
irregular  times,  that  I've  grown  interested 
in  it,  but  I  have  missed  it  since  I  came  back. 
It's  like  losing  a  friend.  Every  man  has  his 
vagaries.  One  of  mine  is  this  friendship 
with  the  symbols  of  human  homes." 

Burgess  offered  no  comment  in  response. 
He  could  not  see  that  the  time  had  come  to 
tell  Fenneben  what  Bond  Saxon  had  con 
fided  to  him  about  the  man  below  the  smoke. 
So  he  left  the  hilltop  and  went  down  to  the 
Saxon  House.  He  wanted  to  see  Dennie, 
but  found  her  father  instead. 

"  That  woman 's  left  Pigeon  Place  again," 
Saxon  said.  "Went  early  this  morning.  It's 
freedom  for  me  when  I  don't  have  to  think 
of  them  two.  Thinking  of  myself  is  slavery 
enough." 

Burgess  loitered  aimlessly  about  the  door 
way  for  a  while.  It  was  a  mild  afternoon, 
with  no  hint  of  winter,  nor  Christmas  glit 
ter  of  ice  and  snow  about  it.  Just  a  glori 
ous  finishing  of  an  idyllic  Kansas  autumn 
rounding  out  in  the  beauty  of  a  sunshiny 
mid-December  day.  But  to  the  man  who 
stood  there,  waiting  for  nothing  at  all,  the 
day  was  a  mockery.  Behind  the  fine 
scholarly  face  a  storm  was  raging  and  there 


234  A  Master  s  Degree 

was  only  one  friend  whom  he  could  trust  — 
Dennie. 

"Let's  go  walking,  you  and  me!" 

Bug  Buler  put  up  one  hand  to  Burgess, 
while  he  clutched  a  little  red  ball  in  the 
other.  Bug  had  an  irresistible  child  voice 
and  child  touch,  and  Burgess  yielded  to 
their  leading.  He  had  not  realized  until 
now  how  lonely  he  was,  and  Bug  was  com 
panionable  by  intuition  and  a  stanch  little 
stroller. 

North  of  town  the  river  lay  glistening 
between  its  vine-draped  banks.  The  two 
paused  at  the  bend  where  Fenneben  had 
been  hurled  almost  to  his  doom,  and  Bur 
gess  remembered  the  darkness,  and  the  rain, 
and  the  limp  body  he  had  held.  He  thought 
Fenneben  was  dead  then,  and  even  in  that 
moment  he  had  felt  a  sense  of  disloyalty  to 
Dennie  as  he  realized  that  he  must  think 
of  Elinor  entirely  now.  But  why  not?  He 
had  come  to  Kansas  for  this  very  thinking. 
It  must  be  his  life  purpose  now. 

Today  Burgess  began  to  wonder  why 
Elinor  must  have  a  life  of  ease  provided  for 
her  and  Dennie  Saxon  ask  for  nothing.  Why 
should  Joshua  Wream's  conscience  be  his 
burden,  too?  Then  he  hated  himself  a  little 


The  Silver  Pitcher  235 

more  than  ever,  and  duty  and  manly  honor 
began  their  wrestle  within  him  again. 

"Let's  we  go  see  the  pigeons,"  Bug  sug 
gested,  tossing  his  ball  in  his  hands. 

Burgess  remembered  what  Bond  had  said 
of  the  woman's  leaving.  There  could  be 
no  harm  in  going  inside,  he  thought.  The 
leafless  trees  and  shrubbery  revealed  the  neat 
little  home  that  the  summer  foliage  con 
cealed.  Bug  ran  forward  with  childish 
curiosity  and  tiptoed  up  to  a  low  window, 
dropping  his  little  red  ball  in  his  eagerness. 

"Oh,  turn!  turn!"  he  cried.  "Such  a 
pretty  picture  frame  and  vase  on  the  table." 

He  was  nearly  five  years  old  now,  but  in 
his  excitement  he  still  used  baby  language, 
as  he  pulled  eagerly  at  Vincent  Burgess' 
coat. 

"  It  isn't  nice  to  peep,  Bug,"  Burgess  in 
sisted,  but  he  shaded  his  eyes  and  glanced  in 
to  please  the  boy.  He  did  not  note  the  pretty 
gilt  frame  nor  the  vase  beside  it  on  the  table. 
But  the  face  looking  out  of  that  frame  made 
him  turn  almost  as  cold  and  limp  as  Fenne- 
ben  had  been  when  he  was  dragged  from 
the  river.  Catching  the  little  one  by  the 
hand  he  hurried  away. 

At  the  gateway  he  lifted  Bug  in  his  arms. 


236  A  Mi  aster's  Degree 

He  was  not  yet  at  ease  with  children. 

"  I  dropped  my  ball,"  Bug  said.  "  Let 
me  det  it." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  '11  get  you  another  one.  Don't 
go  back,"  Burgess  urged.  "  Do  you  know 
it  is  very  rude  to  look  into  windows.  Let's 
never  tell  anybody  we  did  it;  nor  ever,  ever 
do  it  again.  Will  you  remember?  " 

"  Umph  humph!  I  mean,  yes,  sir!  I 
won't  fornever  do  it  again,  nor  tell  nobody." 
Bug  buttoned  up  his  lips  for  a  sphinx-like 
secrecy.  "Nobody  but  Dennie.  And  I 
may  fordet  it  for  her." 

"  Yes,  forget  it,  and  we  '11  go  away  up  the 
river  and  see  other  things.  Bug,  what  do 
you  say  when  you  want  to  keep  from  doing 
wrong?" 

Bug  looked  up  confidingly. 

"  I  ist  say,  '  Dod,  be  merciless  to  me,  a 


sinner'.' 


"  Why  not  merciful,  Bug?  " 

"Tause!  If  He's  merciful  it's  too  easy 
and  I  'm  no  dooder,"  Bug  said,  wisely. 

"Who  told  you  the  difference?"  Burgess 
asked. 

"  Vic.  He  knows  a  lot.  I  wish  I  had  my 
ball,  but  let's  go  up  the  river." 

"Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes,"  Burgess 


The  Silver  Pitcher  237 

murmured  and  hugged  the  little  one  close 
to  him. 

Victor  Burleigh  was  in  the  little  balcony 
of  the  dome  late  that  afternoon  fixing  a 
defective  wiring.  Through  the  open  win 
dows  he  could  see  the  skyline  in  every  direc 
tion.  The  far-reaching  gray  prairie,  over 
hung  by  its  dome  of  amethyst  bordered 
round  with  opal  and  rimmed  with  jasper, 
seemed  in  every  blending  tint  and  tone  to 
call  him  back  to  Norrie.  The  west  bluff 
above  the  old  Kickapoo  Corral  in  the  au 
tumn,  the  glen  full  of  shadow-flecked  light 
under  the  tender  young  April  leaves,  the 
December  .landscape  as  it  lay  beyond  Dr. 
Fenneben's  study  windows  —  these  belonged 
to  Elinor.  And  all  of  them  were  blended 
in  this  vision  of  inexpressible  grandeur,  un 
folded  to  him  now  from  the  dome's  high 
vantage  place. 

"  Twice  Norrie  has  let  me  hold  her  in  my 
arms  and  kiss  her,"  he  mused.  "When  I 
do  that  the  third  time  it  must  be  when  there 
will  be  no  remorse  to  hound  me  afterward." 
He  looked  down  the  winding  Walnut 
toward  the  whirlpool.  "  I  'd  rather  swim 
that  water  than  flounder  here." 


238  A  Master's  Degree 

The  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  rotunda 
stairs  made  him  turn  to  see  Vincent  Burgess 
just  reaching  the  little  balcony  of  the  dome. 

"  I  Ve  come  to  have  a  word  with  you  up 
here,"  he  said.  "We  met  once  before  in 
this  rotunda." 

"Yes,  down  there  in  the  arena,"  Vic 
replied,  recalling  how  like  a  beast  he  had 
felt  then.  "  I  was  a  young  hyena  that  day. 
Bug  Buler  came  just  in  time  to  save  both  of 
us.  There  is  a  comfort  in  feeling  we  can 
learn  something.  I  've  needed  books  and 
college  professors  to  temper  me  to  courtesy." 

It  was  the  only  apology  Vic  had  ever 
offered  to  Burgess,  who  accepted  it  as  all 
that  he  deserved. 

"We  learn  more  from  men  than  from 
books  sometimes.  I  Ve  learned  from  them 
how  courageous  a  man  may  be  when  the 
need  for  sacrifice  comes.  Sit  down,  Bur- 
leigh,  and  let  me  tell  you  something." 

They  sat  down  on  the  low  seat  beside  the 
dome  windows.  Overhead  gleamed  the 
message  of  high  courage,  Ad  Astra  Per 
Aspera.  Below  was  the  artistic  beauty  of 
the  rotunda,  where  the  evening  shadows 
were  deepening. 

"We  are  higher  than  we  were  that  other 


The  Silver  Pitcher  239 

day.  We  care  less  for  fighting  as  we  get 
farther  up,  maybe,"  Burgess  said,  pleasantly. 

"The  only  place  to  fight  a  man  is  in  a 
cave,  anyhow,"  Burleigh  replied,  looking  at 
his  brawny  arms,  nor  dreaming  how 
prophetic  his  words  might  be. 

"We  don't  belong  to  that  class  of  men 
now,  whatever  our  far  off  ancestors  may 
have  been,  but  we  are  the  sons  of  our  fathers, 
Burleigh,  and  it  is  left  to  the  living  to  right 
the  wrongs  the  dead  have  begun." 

Then,  briefly,  Vincent  Burgess,  A.B., 
Greek  Professor  from  Harvard,  told  to  Vic 
Burleigh  from  a  prairie  claim  out  beyond 
the  Walnut,  a  part  of  what  he  had  already 
told  to  Dennie  Saxon,  of  the  funds  withheld 
from  him  so  long.  Told  it  in  general  terms, 
however,  not  shielding  his  father  at  all,  but 
giving  no  hint  that  the  first  Victor  Burleigh 
was  his  own  brother-in-law.  And  of  the 
compact  with  Joshua  Wream  and  of  Norrie 
he  told  nothing. 

'Three  days  ago  I  did  not  know  that  you 
could  be  heir  to  this  property,"  he  con 
cluded.  "  I  Ve  been  interested  in  books  and 
have  left  legal  matters  to  those  who  con 
trolled  them  for  me." 

He    rose   hastily,    for   Burleigh,   saying 


240  A  Master's  Degree 

nothing,  was  looking  at  him  with  wide-open 
brown  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  straight  into 
his  soul. 

"  I  can  restore  your  property  to  you.  I 
cannot  change  the  past.  You  have  all  the 
future  in  which  to  use  it  better  than  my 
father  did,  or  I  might  have  done.  Good 
night." 

He  turned  away  and  passed  slowly  down 
the  rotunda  stairs. 

When  he  was  gone  Victor  Burleigh 
turned  to  the  open  window  of  the  dome. 
He  was  not  to  blame  that  the  beautiful  earth 
under  a  magnificent  December  sunset  sky 
seemed  all  his  own  now. 

"  'If  big,  handsome  Victor  Burleigh  had 
his  corners  knocked  off  and  was  sand 
papered  down,'"  he  mused.  "Well,  what 
corners  I  haven't  knocked  off  myself  have 
been  knocked  off  for  me  and  I  Ve  been  sand 
papered —  Lord,  I've  been  sandpapered 
down  all  right.  I  'm  at  home  on  a  carpet 
now.  'And  if  he  had  money'."  Vic's  face 
was  triumphant.  "  It  has  come  at  last — 
the  money.  And  what  of  Elinor?" 

The  sacred  memories  of  brief  fleeting  mo 
ments  with  her  told  him  "what  of  Elinor." 

"The  barriers  are  down  now.      It  is  a 


The  Silver  Pitcher  241 

glorious  old  world.  I  must  hunt  up  Trench 
and  then- 

He  closed  the  dome  window,  looked  a 
moment  at  the  brave  Kansas  motto,  radiant 
in  the  sunset  light,  and  then,  picking  up  his 
tools,  he  went  downstairs. 

"  Hello,  Trench ! "  he  called  as  he  reached 
the  rotunda  floor.  "  I  must  see  you  a  min 
ute." 

"  Hello,  you  Angel-face!  Case  of  neces 
sity.  Well,  look  a  minute,"  Trench  drawled. 
"  But  that's  the  limit,  and  twice  as  long  as 
I  'd  care  to  see  you,  although,  I  was  hunting 
you.  Funnybone  wants  to  see  you  in  there." 

Victor's  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  golden 
light  as  he  entered  Fenneben's  study,  and 
the  Dean  noted  the  wonderful  change  from 
the  big,  awkward  fellow  with  a  bulldog 
countenance  to  this  self-poised  gentleman 
whose  fine  face  it  was  a  joy  to  see. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you,  Burleigh.  No 
hurry  about  it  I  was  told,  but  I  am  called 
away  on  important  business  and  I  must  get 
it  out  of  my  mind.  An  odd-looking  fellow 
called  at  my  door  on  the  night  I  came  home 
and  left  a  package  for  you.  He  said  he  had 
tried  to  find  you  and  failed,  that  he  was  a 
stranger  here,  and  that  you  would  under- 


242  A  Master's  Degree 

stand  the  message  inside.  He  insisted  on  not 
giving  this  in  any  hurry,  and  as  my  coming 
home  has  brought  me  a  mass  of  things  to 
consider,  I  have  not  been  prompt  about  it." 

Fenneben  put  a  small  package  into  Bur- 
leigh's  hands. 

"  Examine  it  here,  if  you  care  to.  You 
can  fasten  the  door  when  you  leave.  Good- 
by!"  and  he  was  gone. 

Victor  sat  down  and  opened  the  package. 
Inside  was  a  quaint  little  silver  pitcher, 
much  ornamented,  with  the  initial  B  em 
bossed  on  the  smooth  side. 

"The  lost  pitcher — stolen  the  day  my 
mother  died — and  I  was  warned  never  to 
try  to  find  who  stole  it."  He  turned  to  the 
light  of  the  west  window. 

"  It  is  the  very  thing  I  found  in  the  cave 
that  night.  The  man  who  took  it  may  have 
been  over  there."  He  glanced  out  of  the 
window  and  saw  a  thin  twist  of  blue  smoke 
rising  above  the  ledges  across  the  river. 

"  Who  can  have  had  it  all  this  time,  and 
why  return  it  now?"  he  questioned.  As  he 
turned  the  pitcher  in  his  hands  a  paper  fell 
out. 

"The  message  inside!"  He  spread  out 
the  paper  and  read  "the  message  inside." 


The  Silver  Pitcher  243 

Well  for  him  that  Dr.  Fenneben  had  left 
him  alone.  The  shining  face  and  eyes 
aglow  changed  suddenly  to  a  white,  hard 
countenance  as  he  read  this  message  inside. 
It  ran: 

"Victor  Burleigh.  First,  don't  ever  try 
to  follow  me.  The  day  you  do  I  '11  send  you 
where  I  sent  your  father.  No  Burleigh  can 
stay  near  me  and  live.  Now  be  wise. 

"  Second.  You  saved  the  baby  I  left  in 
the  old  dugout  Before  God  I  never  meant 
to  kill  it  then.  The  thought  of  it  has  cursed 
my  soul  night  and  day  till  I  found  out  you 
had  saved  him. 

"Third.  The  girl  you  want  to  marry  —  go 
and  marry.  Do  anything,  good  or  bad,  to 
destroy  Burgess. 

"Fourth.  The  money  Burgess  had  is 
yours,  only  because  I  'm  giving  it  to  you.  It 
belongs  to  Bug  Buler.  He  couldn't  talk 
plain  when  you  saved  him.  He's  not  Bug 
Buler;  he's  Bug  Burleigh,  son  of  Victor 
Burleigh,  heir  to  V.  B.'s  money  in  the  law. 
I  Ve  got  all  the  proofs.  You  see  why  you 
can  have  that  money.  Nobody  will  ever 
know  but  me.  Don't  hunt  for  me  and  I  '11 
never  tell  TOM  GRESH." 


244  A  Master's  Degree 

The  paper  fell  from  Victor  Burleigh's 
hands.  The  world,  that  ten  minutes  ago 
was  a  rose-hued  sunset  land,  was  a  dreary 
midnight  waste  now.  The  one  barrier  be 
tween  himself  and  Elinor  had  fallen  only  to 
rise  up  again. 

Then  came  Satan  into  the  game.  "No 
body  knew  this  but  Gresh !  Who  had  saved 
Bug's  life?  Who  had  cared  for  him  and 
would  always  care  for  him?  Why  should 
Bug,  little,  loving  Bug,  come  now  to  spoil 
his  hopes?  If  Bug  knew  he  would  be  first 
to  give  it  all  to  his  beloved  Vic." 

And  then  came  Satan's  ten  strike.  "  No 
need  to  settle  things  now.  Wait  and  think 
it  over."  And  Vic  decided  in  a  blind  way 
to  think  it  over. 

In  the  rotunda  he  met  Trench,  old 
Trench,  slow  of  step  but  a  lightning  calcu 
lator. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  saw  Vic's  face. 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  whirlpool  before  I  'm 
through,"  Vic  said,  hoarsely. 

Trench  caught  him  in  a  powerful  grip 
and  shoved  him  to  the  foot  of  the  rotunda 
stairs. 

"  No,-you  re-not-going-to-the-whirlpool," 


The  Silver  Pitcher  245 

he  said,  slowly.  "You're  going  up  to  the 
top  of  the  dome  right  against  that  Ad  Astra 
per  Aspera  business  up  there,  and  open  the 
west  window  and  look  out  at  the  world  the 
Lord  made  to  heal  hurt  souls  by  looking  at. 
And  you  are  going  to  stay  up  there  until 
you  have  fought  the  thing  out  with  yourself, 
and  come  down  like  Moses  did  with  the  ten 
Commandments  cut  deep  on  the  tables  of 
your  stony  old  heart.  If  you  don't,  you'll 
not  need  to  go  to  old  Lagonda's  pool.  By 
the  holy  saints,  I  '11  take  you  there  myself 
and  plunge  you  in  just  to  rid  the  world  of 
such  a  fool.  You  hear  mel  Now,  go  on! 
And  remember  in  your  tussle  that  that  big  S 
cut  over  the  old  Sunrise  door  out  there 
stands  for  Service.  That's  what  will  make 
your  name  fit  you  yet,  Victor." 

Vic  slowly  climbed  up  to  where  an  hour 
ago  the  sudden  opportunity  for  the  fruition 
of  his  young  life  and  hope  had  been  brought 
to  him.  Lost  now,  unless  —  Nobody  would 
ever  know  and  Bug  could  lose  nothing.  He 
opened  the  west  window  and  looked  out  at 
the  Walnut  Valley,  dim  and  shadowy  now, 
and  the  silver  prairies  beyond  it  and  the 
gorgeous  crimson  tinted  sky  wherefrom  the 
sun  had  slipped.  And  then  and  there,  with 


246  A  Master's  Degree 

his  face  to  the  light,  he  wrestled  with  the 
black  Apollyon  of  his  soul.  And  every  min 
ute  the  temptation  grew  to  keep  the  funds 
"  in  trust,"  and  to  keep  on  caring  for  the  boy 
he  had  cared  for  since  babyhood.  He 
clinched  his  white  teeth  and  the  tiger  light 
was  in  his  eyes  again  as  the  longing  for 
Elinor's  love  overcame  him.  He  pictured 
her  as  only  one  sunset  ago  she  had  looked 
up  into  his  eyes,  her  face  transfigured  with 
love's  sweetness,  and  he  wished  he  might 
keep  that  picture  forever.  But,  somehow, 
between  that  face  and  his  own,  came  the 
picture  of  little  Bug  alone  in  the  wretched 
dugout,  reaching  up  baby  arms  to  him  for 
life  and  safety;  on  his  baby  face  a  pleading 
trustfulness. 

Victor  unbuttoned  his  cuff  and  slipped  up 
his  sleeve  to  the  scar  on  his  arm. 

"Anybody  can  see  the  scar  I  put  there 
when  I  cut  out  the  poison,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  at  last.  "  Nobody  will  see  the  scar  on 
my  soul,  but  I  '11  cut  out  the  poison  just  the 
same.  I  did  not  save  that  baby  boy  from 
the  rattlesnakes  only  to  let  him  be  crushed 
by  the  serpent  in  me.  Trench  was  right,  the 
S  over  the  doorway  down  there  stands  for 
Service  as  well  as  for  Sacrifice  and  Strife. 


The  Silver  Pitcher  247 

Dr.  Fenneben  says  they  all  enter  into  the 
winning  of  a  Master's  Degree.  Shall  I  ever 
get  mine  earned,  I  wonder?" 

He  looked  once  more  at  the  west,  all  a 
soft  purple,  gray-veiled  with  misty  shadows, 
save  over  the  place  where  the  sun  went  out 
one  shaft  of  deepest  rose  hue  tipped  with 
golden  flame  was  cleaving  its  way  toward 
the  darkening  zenith.  Then  he  closed  the 
window  and  went  downstairs  and  out  into 
the  beautiful  December  twilight. 

In  all  Kansas  in  that  evening  hour  no 
man  breathed  deeper  of  the  sweet,  pure  air, 
nor  walked  with  firmer  stride,  than  the  man 
who  had  gone  out  under  the  carved  symbol 
of  the  college  doorway,  Victor  Burleigh  of 
the  junior  class  at  Sunrise. 


SUPREMACY 


tfi 


Make  thyself  free  of  Manhood's  guild, 
Pull  down  thy  barns  and  greater  build. 
Pluck  from  the  sunset's  fruit  of  gold, 
Glean  from  the  heavens  and  ocean  old, 
From  fireside  lone  and  trampling  street 
Let  thy  life  garner  daily  wheat, 
The  epic  of  a  man  rehearse, 
Be  something  better  than  thy  verse, 
And  thou  shalt  hear  the  life-blood  flow 
From  farthest  stars  to  grass-blades  low. 

—  LOWELL 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  MAN  BELOW  THE  SMOKE 
And  forgive  us  our  debts  as  we  forgive  our  debtors. 


WREAM  was  standing  at  the 
gate  as  Victor  Burleigh  came  striding 
up  the  street. 

"Where  are  you  going  so  fast,  Victor?" 
she  asked.  "  Everybody  is  in  a  rush  this 
evening.  We  had  a  telegram  from  the  East 
this  afternoon.  Uncle  Joshua  is  very  ill, 
and  Uncle  Lloyd  had  to  get  away  on  short 
notice.  Old  Bond  Saxon  went  by  just  now, 
but,"  lowering  her  voice,  "  he  was  awfully 
drunk  and  slipped  along  like  a  snake." 

"Have  you  seen  Bug?"  Victor  asked. 
"  Dennie  says  he  left  a  little  while  ago  to 
find  his  ball  he  lost  out  north  this  afternoon. 
He  would  n't  tell  where,  because  he  had 
promised  not  to." 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  him.  But  don't 
be  uneasy  about  Bug.  He  never  plays  near 
the  river,  nor  the  railroad  tracks,  and  he 
always  comes  in  at  the  right  time,"  Elinor 
said,  comfortingly. 

251 


252  A  Master  s  Degree 

"  I  know  he  always  has  before,  but  I  want 
to  find  him,  anyhow."  The  affectionate  tone 
told  Elinor  what  a  loving  guardianship  was 
given  to  the  unknown  orphan  child. 

"There  was  a  man  here  to  see  Uncle 
Lloyd  just  after  he  left  this  evening.  The 
same  man  that  brought  a  little  package  for 
you  the  night  we  came  home.  I  suppose  he 
comes  from  your  part  of  the  state  out  West, 
for  he  seemed  to  know  you  and  Bug.  He 
asked  me  if  Bug  ever  played  along  the  river 
and  if  he  was  a  shy  child.  He  was  a  strange- 
looking  man,  and  I  thought  he  had  the 
crudest  face  I  ever  saw,  but  I  am  no  expert 
on  strange  faces." 

Victor  did  not  wait  for  another  word. 
'  I  must  find  Bug  right  away.    You  can't 
think  what  he  is  to  me,  Elinor,"  and  he 
hurried  away. 

At  the  bend  in  the  Walnut  Vic  saw  Bug's 
little  scarlet  stocking  cap  beside  the  flat 
stone.  The  twilight  was  almost  gone,  but 
the  glistening  river  reflected  on  the  torn 
bushes  above  the  bank-full  stream. 

The  crushing  agony  of  the  first  minutes 
made  them  seem  like  hours.  And-then  the 
college  discipline  put  in  its  work.  Vic 
stopped  and  reasoned. 


The  Man  Below  the  Smoke       253 

"Bug  isn't  down  there.  He  never  goes 
near  the  river.  That  strange  man  is  Tom 
Gresh.  He  killed  my  father  and  he's  laid 
a  trap  for  me.  He  does  n't  want  to  kill  Bug. 
He  wants  to  keep  him  to  work  out  vengeance 
and  hate  on  me.  He  says  he'll  send  me  to 
my  father  if  I  go  near  him.  Well,  I  'm 
going  so  near  he'll  not  doubt  who  I  am, 
and  I'll  have  Bug  unharmed  if  I  have  to 
send  Gresh  where  my  father  could  not  go 
even  with  water  to  cool  his  tongue.  A  man 
may  fight  with  a  man  as  he  would  fight  with 
a  beast  to  save  himself  or  something  dearer 
than  himself  from  beastly  destruction,  Fen- 
neben  says.  That's  the  battle  before  me 
now,  and  it's  to  the  death." 

The  tiger  light  was  in  the  yellow  eyes  as 
never  before  and  the  stern  jaw  was  set,  as 
Victor  Burleigh  hurried  away.  And  this 
was  the  man  who,  such  a  little  while  ago, 
was  debating  with  himself  over  the  quiet 
possession  of  Bug  Buler's  inheritance. 
Truly  the  Mastery  comes  very  near  to  such 
as  he. 

It  was  with  tiger-like  step  and  instinct, 
too,  that  the  young  man  went  leaping  up  the 
dark,  frost-coated  glen.  About  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  the  blackness  was  appalling.  It 


254  ^  Master  s  Degree 

seemed  a  place  apart,  cursed  with  the  frown 
of  Nature.  Yet  in  the  April  time,  the 
sweetest  moments  of  Vic's  young  life  had 
been  spent  in  this  very  spot  that  now  showed 
all  the  difference  between  Love  and  Hate. 

As  he  neared  the  opening  of  the  cavern 
he  guarded  his  footsteps  more  carefully. 
The  jungle  beast  was  alert  within  him  and 
the  college  training  was  giving  way  to  the 
might  of  muscle  backed  by  a  will  to  win. 

A  dim  light  gleamed  in  the  cave  and  he 
watched  outside  now,  as  Gresh  on  the  April 
day  had  watched  him  inside.  Down  by  a 
wood  fire,  whose  smoke  was  twisting  out 
through  a  crevice  overhead  somewhere, 
little  Bug  was  sitting  on  Tom  Gresh's  big 
coat,  the  fire  lighting  up  his  tangle  of  red- 
brown  curls.  His  big  brown  eyes  looking 
up  at  the  man  crouching  by  the  fire  wrere 
eyes  of  innocent  courage,  and  the  expression 
on 'the  sweet  child-face  was  impenetrable. 

"He's  a  Burleigh.  He's  not  afraid," 
Vic  thought,  exultingly.  "That's  half  my 
battle.  I  had  it  out  with  the  rattlesnakes. 
I  '11  do  better  here." 

At  that  moment  the  outlaw  turned  toward 
the  door  and  leaped  to  his  feet  as  Vic  sprang 
inside. 


The  Man  Below  the  Smoke       255 

Bug  started  up  with  outstretched  arms. 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way,  Bug,"  Vic  cried, 
as  the  two  men  clinched. 

And  the  struggle  began.  They  were 
evenly  matched,  and  both  had  the  sinews 
of  giants.  The  outlaw  had  the  advantage 
of  an  iron  strength,  hardened  by  years  of 
out-door  life.  But  the  college  that  had 
softened  the  country  boy  somewhat  gave  in 
return  the  quick  judgment  and  superior 
agility  of  the  trained  power  that  counts 
against  weight  before  the  battle  is  over.  But 
withal,  it  was  terrible.  One  fighter  was  a 
murderer  by  trade,  his  hand  steady  for  the 
blackest  deeds,  and  here  was  a  man  he  had 
waited  long  months  to  destroy.  The  other 
fighter  was  in  the  struggle  to  save  a  life  dear 
to  him,  a  life  that  must  vindicate  his  con 
science  and  preserve  his  soul's  peace. 

Across  the  stone-floored  cave  they 
threshed  in  fury,  until  at  the  farther  wall 
Gresh  flung  Vic  from  him  against  the 
jagged  rock  with  a  force  that  cut  a  gash 
across  the  boy's  head.  The  blood  splashed 
on  both  men's  faces  as  they  renewed  the 
strife.  Then  with  a  quick  twist  Burleigh 
threw  the  outlaw  to  the  floor  and  held  him 
in  a  clutch  that  weighed  him  down  like  a 


256  A  Master's  Degree 

ledge  of  rock;  and  it  was  pound  for  pound 
again. 

Away  from  the  mass  of  burning  coals  the 
blackness  was  horrible.  Beyond  that  fire 
Bug  sat,  silent  as  the  stone  wall  behind  him. 
Gresh  gained  the  mastery  again,  and  with  a 
grip  on  Vic's  throat  was  about  to  thrust  his 
head,  face  downward,  into  the  burning 
embers.  Vic  understood  and  strove  for  his 
own  life  with  a  maniac's  might,  for  he  knew 
that  one  more  wrench  would  end  the  thing. 

"You  first,  and  then  the  baby;  I'll  roast 
you  both,"  Gresh  hissed,  and  Vic  smelled 
the  heat  of  the  wood  flame. 

But  who  had  counted  on  Bug?  He  had 
watched  this  fearful  grapple,  motionless 
and  terror-stricken,  and  now  with  a  child's 
vision  he  saw  what  Gresh  meant  to  do. 
Springing  up,  he  caught  the  heavy  coat  on 
which  he  had  been  sitting  and  flung  it  on 
the  fire,  smothering  the  embers  and  putting 
the  cavern  into  complete  darkness. 

Vic  gained  the  vantage  by  this  unlocked 
for  movement  and  the  grip  shifted.  The 
fighters  fell  to  the  floor  and  then  began  the 
same  kind  of  struggle  by  which  Burleigh 
had  out-generaled  big,  unconquerable 
Trench  one  day.  The  two  had  rolled  and 


The  Man  Below  the  Smoke       257 

fought  in  college  combat  from  the  top  of  the 
limestone  ridge  to  the  lower  campus  and 
landed  with  Burleigh  gripping  Trench 
helpless  to  defend  further.  That  battle  was 
friend  with  friend.  This  battle  was  to  the 
death.  The  blood  of  both  men  smeared  the 
floor  as  they  tore  at  each  other  like  wild 
beasts,  and  no  man  could  have  told  which 
oftenest  had  the  vantage  hold,  nor  how  the 
strife  would  end.  But  it  did  end  soon.  The 
heavy  coat,  that  had  smothered  the  fire  and 
saved  Vic,  smoldered  a  little,  then  flared 
into  flame,  lighting  the  whole  cave,  and 
throwing  out  black  and  awful  shadows  of 
the  two  fighters.  They  were  close  to  the 
hole  in  the  inner  wall  now.  Gresh's  face  in 
that  unsteady  glare  was  horrible  to  see.  He 
loosed  his  hold  a  second,  then  lunged  at  Vic 
with  the  fury  of  a  mad  brute.  And  Vic, 
who  had  fought  the  devil  in  himself  to  a 
standstill  three  hours  ago,  now  caught  the 
fiend  outside  of  him  for  a  finishing  blow, 
and  the  strength  of  that  last  struggle  was 
terrific. 

Up  to  this  time  Vic  had  not  spoken. 

"I  killed  the  other  snakes.  I'll  kill 
you  now,"  he  growled,  as  he  held  the  outlaw 
at  length  in  a  conquering  grip,  his  knees  on 


258  A  Master's  Degree 

Gresh's  breast,  his  right  hand  on  Gresh's 
throat. 

In  that  weird  light  the  conqueror's  face 
was  only  a  degree  less  brutal  than  the  out 
law's  face.  And  Burleigh  meant  every  word, 
for  murder  was  in  his  heart  and  in  his 
clutching  fingers.  Beneath  the  weight  of 
his  strength  Gresh  slowly  relaxed,  strug 
gling  fiercely  at  first  and  groping  blindly  to 
escape.  Then  he  began  to  whine  for  mercy, 
but  his  whining  maddened  his  conqueror 
more  than  his  blows  had  done.  For  such 
strife  is  no  mere  wrestling  match.  Every 
blow  struck  against  a  fellowman  is  as  the 
smell  of  blood  to  the  tiger,  feeding  a  fiend 
ish  eagerness  to  kill.  Beside,  Burleigh  had 
ample  cause  for  vengeance.  The  creature 
under  his  grip  was  not  only  a  bootlegger 
through  whose  evil  influence  men  took 
other  lives  or  lost  their  own;  he  had  slain 
one  innocent  man,  Vic's  own  father,  and  in 
the  room  where  his  dead  mother  lay  had 
robbed  Vic's  home  of  every  valuable  thing. 
He  had  sworn  vengeance  on  all  who  bore 
the  name  of  Burleigh.  What  fate  might 
await  Bug,  Vic  dared  not  picture.  One 
strangling  grip  now  could  finish  the  busi 
ness  forever,  and  his  clutch  tightened,  as 


The  Man  Below  the  Smoke       259 

Gresh  lay  begging  like  a  coward  for  his  own 
worthless  life. 

"  It 's  a  good  thing  a  fellow  has  a  guardian 
angel  once  in  a  while.  We  get  pretty  close 
to  the  edge  sometimes  and  never  know  how 
near  we  are  to  destruction,"  Vic  had  said  to 
Elinor  in  here  on  the  April  day. 

It  was  not  Vic's  guardian  angel,  but  little 
Bug  whose  white  face  was  thrust  between 
him  and  his  victim,  and  the  touch  of  a  soft 
little  hand  and  the  pleading  child-voice  that 
cried: 

"Don't  kill  him,  Vic.  He's  f rough  of 
fighting  now.  Don't  hurt  him  no  more." 

Vic  staid  his  hand  at  the  words.  The  few 
minutes  of  this  mad-beast  duel  had  made 
him  forget  the  sound  of  human  voices.  He 
half  lifted  himself  from  Gresh's  body  at 
Bug's  cry.  And  Bug,  wise  beyond  his  years, 
quaint-minded  little  Bug,  said,  softly: 

"  Fordive  us  our  debts  as  we  fordive  our 
debtors." 

Strange,  loving  words  of  the  Man  of 
Galilee,  spoken  on  the  mountain-side  long, 
long  ago,  and  echoed  now  by  childish  lips 
in  the  dying  light  of  the  cavern  to  these  two 
men,  drunk  with  brute-lust  for  human 
blood!  For  Vic  the  words  struck  like 


260  A  Master's  Degree 

J fj        TJTJI 1" -III ..  ..  '  -  _..—  __, 

blows.  All  the  years  since  his  father's  death 
he  had  waited  for  this  hour.  At  last  he  had 
met  and  vanquished  the  man  who  had  taken 
his  father's  life,  and  now,  exultant  in  his 
victory,  came  this  little  child's  voice. 

The  cave  darkened.  A  mist,  half  blood, 
half  blindness,  came  before  his  eyes,  but 
clear  to  his  ears  there  sounded  the  ringing 
words: 

"Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Discipline  calling  to 
his  better  judgment,  as  Bug's  innocent 
pleading  spoke  to  the  finer  man  within  him. 

Under  his  grip  Gresh  lay  motionless,  all 
power  of  resistance  threshed  out  of  him. 

"Are  you  ready  to  quit?"  Vic  questioned, 
hoarsely,  bending  over  the  almost  lifeless 
form. 

The  outlaw  mumbled  assent. 

"Then  I'll  let  you  live,  you  miserable 
wretch,  and  the  courts  will  take  care  of 
you." 

Burleigh  himself  was  faint  from  strife 
and  loss  of  blood.  As  he  relaxed  his  vigi 
lance  the  last  atom  of  strength,  the  last  hope 
of  escape  returned  to  Gresh.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet,  staggered  blindly  then,  quick  as  a 
panther,  he  leaped  through  the  hole  in  the 


The  Man  Below  the  Smoke       261 

farther  wall,  wriggled  swiftly  into  the  blind 
crevices  of  the  inner  cave,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  Trench  who  dressed  Vic's  head 
that  night  and  shielded  him  until  his 
strength  returned.  But  it  was  Bond  Saxon 
who  counseled  patience. 

"  Don't  squeal  to  the  sheriff  now,"  he 
urged.  "The  scoundrel  is  gone,  and  it 
would  make  a  nine  days'  hooray,  and  noth 
ing  would  come  of  it.  He  was  darned  slick 
to  take  the  time  when  Funnybone  was 
away." 

"Why?"  Vic  asked. 

But  Bond  would  not  tell  why.  And  Vic 
never  dreamed  how  much  cause  Bond  Saxon 
had  to  dread  the  day  when  Tom  Gresh 
should  be  brought  into  court,  and  his  own 
great  crime  committed  in  his  drunken  hours 
would  demand  retribution.  So  Lagonda 
Ledge  and  Sunrise  knew  nothing  of  what 
had  occurred.  Burleigh  had  no  recourse 
but  to  wait,  while  Bug  buttoned  up  his  lips, 
as  he  had  done  for  Burgess  out  at  Pigeon 
Place,  and  conveniently  "fordot"  what  he 
chose  not  to  tell.  But  he  wandered  no  more 
alone  about  the  pretty  by-corners  of  La 
gonda  Ledge. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DERELICTS 

I  dimly  guess  from  blessings  known 

Of  greater  out  of  sight, 
And,  with  the  chastened  Psalmist,  own 

His  judgments,  too,  are  right. 

I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  marvel  or  surprise, 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 

His  mercy  underlies. 

—  WHITTIER 

TT  was  early  spring  before  Dr.  Fenneben 
•*•  returned  to  Lagonda  Ledge.  Everybody 
thought  the  new  line  on  his  face  was  put 
there  by  the  death  of  his  brother.  To  those 
who  loved  him  most  —  that  is,  to  all  La 
gonda  Ledge  —  he  was  growing  handsomer 
every  year,  and  even  with  this  new  expres 
sion  his  countenance  wore  a  more  kindly 
grace  than  ever  before. 

"Norrie,  your  uncle  was  a  strange  man," 
Fenneben  declared,  as  he  and  Elinor  sat  in 
the  library  on  the  evening  of  his  return. 
"  Naturally,  I  am  unlike  my  stepbrothers, 

262 


The  Derelicts  263 

but  I  have  not  even  understood  them.  There 
were  many  things  I  learned  at  Joshua's  bed 
side  that  I  never  knew  of  the  family  before. 
There  were  some  things  for  you  to  know, 
but  not  now." 

"  I  can  trust  you,  Uncle  Lloyd,  to  do  just 
the  right  thing,"  Norrie  declared. 

The  new  line  of  sadness  deepened  in 
Lloyd  Fenneben's  face. 

"That  is  a  hard  thing  to  do  sometimes. 
Your  trust  will  help  me  wonderfully,  how 
ever,"  he  replied.  "  My  brother  in  his  last 
hours  made  urgent  requests  of  me  and  pled 
with  me  until  I  pledged  my  word  to  carry 
out  his  wishes.  Here's  where  I  need  your 
trust  most." 

Elinor  bent  over  her  uncle  and  softly 
stroked  the  heavy  black  hair  from  his  fore 
head. 

"  Here 's  where  I  help  you  most,  then," 
she  said,  gently. 

"  I  have  some  funds,  Elinor,  to  be  yours 
at  your  graduation  —  not  before.  Believe 
me,  dear  girl,  I  begged  of  Joshua  to  let  me 
turn  them  over  to  you  now,  but  he  staid 
obstinate  to  the  last." 

"And  I  don't  want  a  thing  different  till  I 
get  my  diploma.  Not  even  till  I  get  my 


264  A  Master's  Degree 

Master's  Degree  for  that  matter,"  Elinor 
said,  playfully. 

"And  meantime,  Nome,  will  you  just  be 
a  college  girl  and  drop  all  thought  of  this 
marrying  business  until  you  are  through 
school?"  Fenneben  was  hesitating  a  little 
now.  "A  year  hence  will  be  time  enough 
for  that." 

"  Most  gladly,"  Elinor  assured  him. 

"Then  that's  all  for  my  brother's  sake. 
Now  for  mine,  Norrie,  or  for  yours,  rather, 
if  my  little  girl  has  her  mind  all  set  about 
things  after  school  days,  I  hope  she  will  not 
be  a  flirt.  Sometimes  the  words  and  acts  cut 
deeper  into  other  lives  than  we  ever  dream. 
Norrie,  I  know  this  out  of  the  years  of  my 
own  lonely  life." 

Elinor's  eyes  were  dewy  with  tears  and 
she  bent  her  head  until  her  hair  touched 
his  cheek. 

"  I  '11  try  to  be  good  '  fornever,'  as  Bug 
Buler  says,"  she  murmured. 

Over  in  the  Saxon  House  on  this  same 
evening  Vincent  Burgess  had  come  in  to  see 
Dennie  about  some  books. 

"  I  took  your  advice,  Dennie,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  been  a  man  to  the  extent  of  making 


The  Derelicts  265 

myself  square  with  Victor  Burleigh,  and 
I  Ve  felt  like  a  free  man  ever  since." 

The  look  of  joy  and  pride  in  Dennie's  eyes 
thrilled  him  with  a  keen  pleasure.  Her 
eyes  were  of  such  a  soft  gray  and  her  pretty 
wavy  hair  was  so  lustrous  tonight. 

"  Dennie,  I  am  going  to  be  even  more  of 
a  man  than  you  asked  me  to  be." 

Dennie  did  not  look  up.  The  pink  of  her 
cheek,  her  long  lashes  over  her  downcast 
eyes,  the  sunny  curls  above  her  forehead,  all 
were  fair  to  Vincent  Burgess.  As  he  looked 
at  her  he  began  to  understand,  blind  bat  that 
he  had  been  all  this  time,  he,  Professor  Vin 
cent  Burgess,  A.B.,  Instructor  in  Greek 
from  Harvard  University. 

"  I  must  be  going  now.  Good-night, 
Dennie." 

He  shook  hands  and  hurried  away,  but  to 
the  girl  who  was  earning  her  college  educa 
tion  there  was  something  in  his  handclasp, 
denied  before. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  settling  of 
affairs  at  Sunrise,  and  the  character-build 
ing  put  into  Lloyd  Fenneben's  hand,  as  clay 
for  the  potter's  wheel,  seemed  to  him  to  be 
shaping  somewhat  to  its  destined  uses. 

Again,  Vincent  Burgess  sat  in  the  chair 


266  A  Master's  Degree 

by  the  west  study  window,  acting-dean,  now 
seeking  neither  types,  nor  geographical 
breadth,  nor  seclusion  amid  barren  prairie 
lands  for  profound  research  in  preparing 
for  a  Master's  Degree. 

With  no  effort  to  conceal  matters,  except 
the  fact  that  the  trust  funds  had  first  be 
longed  to  his  own  sister  and  brother-in-law, 
he  explained  to  Fenneben  the  line  of  events 
connecting  him  with  Victor  Burleigh. 

"And,  Dr.  Fenneben,  I  must  speak  of  a 
matter  I  have  never  touched  upon  with  you 
before.  It  was  agreed  between  Dr.  Wream 
and  myself  that  I  should  become  his  nephew 
by  marriage.  I  want  to  go  to  Miss  Elinor 
and  ask  her  to  release  me.  You  will  pardon 
my  frankness,  for  I  cannot  honorably  con 
tinue  in  this  relationship  since  I  have  re 
stored  the  property  to  Victor  Burleigh." 

"  He  thinks  she  will  not  care  for  him 
now,"  Fenneben  said  to  himself.  Aloud  he 
said: 

"  Have  you  ever  spoken  directly  to  Elinor 
on  this  matter?" 

aN-no.  It  was  an  understanding  be 
tween  her  and  her  uncle  and  between  him 
and  me,"  Burgess  replied. 

"Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  know  girls  very 


The  Derelicts  267 

well,  being  a  confirmed  bachelor" — the 
Dean's  eyes  were  smiling — "but  my  advice 
at  this  distance  is  not  to  ask  Norrie  to  release 
you  from  what  she  herself  has  never  yet 
bound  you.  I  '11  vouch  for  her  peace  of 
mind ;  and  your  sense  of  honor  is  fully  vindi 
cated  now.  To  be  equally  frank  with  you, 
Burgess,  now  that  Norrie  is  entirely  in  my 
charge,  I  have  put  this  sort  of  thing  for  her 
absolutely  into  the  after-commencement 
years.  The  best  wife  is  not  always  the  girl 
who  wears  a  diamond  ring  through  three  or 
four  years  of  her  college  life.  I  want  my 
niece  to  be  a  girl  now,  not  a  bride-in- 
waiting." 

As  Burgess  rose  to  go  his  eye  caught  sight 
of  the  pigeons  above  the  bend  in  the  river. 

"  By  the  way,  Doctor,  have  you  ever 
found  out  anything  about  the  woman  who 
used  to  live  in  that  deserted  place  up 
north?" 

"  Nothing  yet,"  Fenneben  replied.  "  But, 
remember,  I  have  not  spent  a  week — that  is, 
a  sane  week  —  in  Lagonda  Ledge  since  the 
night  you,  and  she,  and  Saxon,  and  the  dog 
saved  my  life.  I  shall  take  up  her  case 


soon." 


"  She  is  gone  away  and  nobody  knows 


268  A  Master's  Degree 

where,  Saxon  tells  me,"  Burgess  said.  "  For 
many  reasons  I  wish  we  could  find  her,  but 
she  has  dropped  out  of  sight." 

Lloyd  Fenneben  wondered  at  the  sorrow 
ful  expression  on  the  younger  man's  face 
when  he  said  this. 

As  he  left  the  study  Victor  Burleigh 
came  in. 

"  Sit  down,  Burleigh.  What  can  I  do  for 
you?"  Fenneben  asked. 

Something  like  his  own  magnetism  of 
presence  was  in  the  young  man  before  him. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  Vic  re 
sponded. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  something.  I  knew  you 
had  good  blood  in  your  veins  even  when  I 
saw  you  kill  that  bull  snake.  Burgess  has 
just  been  in.  He  has  told  me  his  side  of  your 
story.  Noble  fellow  he  is  to  free  himself  of 
a  life-long  slavery  to  somebody  else's  dol 
lars.  However  much  a  man  may  try  to  hide 
the  fetters  of  unlawful  gains,  they  clank  in 
his  own  ears  till  he  hates  himself.  Now 
Burgess  is  a  free  man." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Dr.  Fenne 
ben.  It  makes  my  own  freedom  sweeter," 
Vic  declared. 

"Yes,"  Fenneben  replied.    "Your  added 


The  Derelicts  269 

means  will  bring  you  life's  best  gift  — 
opportunity." 

"  I  have  no  added  means,  Doctor.  I  have 
funds  in  trust  for  Bug  Buler,  and  I  come  to 
ask  you  to  take  his  legal  guardianship  for 
me."  And  then  he  told  his  own  life  story. 

"  So  the  heroism  shifts  to  you  as  well.  I 
can  picture  the  cost  to  a  man  like  yourself," 
the  Dean  said.  "  Have  you  no  record  of 
Bug's  father  and  mother?" 

<TNone  but  the  record  given  by  Dr. 
Wream.  They  are  dead,"  Burleigh  replied. 
"  His  father  may  have  met  the  same  fate 
that  my  father  did." 

"Why  don't  you  take  the  guardianship 
yourself,  Burleigh?  The  boy  is  yours  in 
love  and  blood.  He  ought  to  be  in  law." 

Victor  Burleigh  stood  up  to  his  full 
height,  a  magnificent  product  of  Nature's 
handiwork.  But  the  mind  and  soul  "  Dean 
Funnybone"  had  helped  to  shape. 

"  I  will  be  honest  with  you,  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben,"  Burleigh  said,  and  his  voice  was  deep 
and  sweetly  resonant.  "  If  I  keep  the  money 
in  charge  I  may  not  be  proof  against  the 
temptation  to  use  it  for  myself.  As  strong 
as  my  strong  arms  are  my  hates  and  loves, 
and  for  some  reasons  I  would  do  almost 


270  A  Master's  Degree 

anything  to  gain  riches.  I  might  not  resist 
the  tempter." 

Lloyd  Fenneben's  black  eyes  blazed  at  the 
words. 

"  I  understand  perfectly  what  you  mean, 
but  no  woman  who  exacts  this  price  is  worth 
the  cost."  Then,  in  a  gentler  tone,  he  con 
tinued:  "Burleigh,  will  you  take  my  ad 
vice?  I  have  always  had  your  welfare  on 
my  heart.  Finish  your  college  work  first. 
Get  the  best  of  the  classroom,  the  library, 
the  athletic  field,  and  the  'picnic  spread.' 
Is  that  the  right  term?  But  fit  yourself  for 
manhood  before  you  undertake  a  man's 
duties.  Meantime,  He  who  has  given  you 
the  mastery  in  the  years  behind  you  is  lead 
ing  you  toward  the  larger  places  before  you, 
teaching  you  all  the  meanings  of  Strife,  and 
Sacrifice,  and  Service  symbolized  above  our 
doorway  in  our  proud  College  initial  letter. 
The  Supremacy  is  yet  to  come.  Will  you 
follow  my  counsel?  I'll  take  care  of  Bug, 
and  we  will  keep  Burgess  out  of  this  for  a 
while." 

Burleigh  thought  he  understood,  and  the 
silent  hand  clasp  pledged  the  faith  of  the 
country  boy  to  the  teacher's  wishes. 

It  is  only  in  story  books  that  events  leap 


The  Derelicts  271 

out  as  pages  are  turned,  events  that  take 
days  on  days  of  real  life  to  compass.  In 
the  swing  of  one  brief  year  Lagonda  Ledge 
knew  little  change.  New  cement  walks  were 
built  south  almost  to  the  Kickapoo  Corral. 
A  new  manufacturing  concern  had  bonds 
voted  for  it  at  an  exciting  election,  and  a 
squabble  for  a  suitable  site  was  in  process. 
Vincent  Burgess  and  Victor  Burleigh,  two 
strong  men,  were  growing  actually  chummy, 
and  Trench  declared  he  was  glad  they  had 
decided  to  quit  playing  marbles  for  keeps 
and  hiding  each  other's  caps. 

And  now  the  springtime  of  the  year  was 
on  the  beautiful  Walnut  Valley.  Elinor 
and  Dennie,  Trench, "  Limpy,"  the  crippled 
student,  and  Victor  Burleigh  were  all  on 
the  home-stretch  of  their  senior  year.  One 
more  June  Commencement  day  and  Sunrise 
would  know  them  no  more.  Beyond  all  this 
there  was  nothing  new  at  Lagonda  Ledge 
until  suddenly  the  white-haired  woman  was 
up  at  Pigeon  Place,  again,  a  fact  known 
only  to  old  Bond  Saxon  and  little  Bug,  who 
saw  her  leave  the  train.  The  little  blue 
smoke-twist  was  again  rising  lazily  in  the 
warm  May  air,  and  somebody  was  syste 
matically  robbing  houses  in  town,  and  Bond 


272  A  Master  s  Degree 

Saxon  was  often  drunk  and  hiding  away 
from  sight.  A  May  storm  sent  the  Walnut 
booming  down  the  valley,  bank  full,  cutting 
off  traffic  at  the  town  bridge,  but  the  days 
that  followed  were  a  joy.  A  tenderly  green 
world  it  was  now,  all  blossom-decked,  and 
blown  across  by  the  gentle  May  zephyrs, 
with  nothing  harsh  nor  cruel  in  it,  unless  the 
rushing  river  down  below  the  shallows 
might  seem  so.  The  Kickapoo  Corral, 
luxuriant  with  flowers,  and  springing  grass, 
and  May  green  foliage,  told  nothing  of  the 
old-time  siege  and  sorrow  of  Swift  Elk  and 
the  Fawn  of  the  Morning  Light. 

On  the  night  after  the  storm  Professor 
Burgess  stopped  at  the  Saxon  House. 

"Where  is  your  father,  Dennie?"  he 
asked. 

"  He  went  up  north  to  help  somebody  out 
of  the  mud  and  water,  I  suppose,"  Dennie 
replied.  "  He  is  the  kindest  neighbor,  and 
he  has  been  trying  to  —  to  keep  straight. 
He  told  me  when  he  left  that  this  night's 
work  was  to  be  a  work  of  redemption  for 
him.  He  may  get  stronger  some  time." 

In  his  heart  Burgess  knew  better.  He  had 
no  faith  in  the  old  man's  will  power,  and 
the  burden  of  a  hidden  crime  he  knew  would 


The  Derelicts  273 

but  increase  its  weight  with  time,  and 
drag  Bond  down  at  last.  But  Dennie  need 
not  suffer  now. 

"Will  you  go  with  me  down  to  the  old 
Corral  tomorrow  afternoon,  Dennie?  I 
want  some  plants  that  grow  there.  I  'm 
studying  nature  along  with  Greek,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"Of  course,  if  it  is  fair,"  Dennie  replied, 
the  pretty  color  blooming  deeper  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  Oh,  we  go  fair  or  foul.  You  remember 
we  fought  it  out  coming  home  from  there 


once." 


Meanwhile  Bond  Saxon  was  hurrying 
north  on  his  work  of  redemption.  At  the 
bend  in  the  river  he  found  Tom  Gresh  sit 
ting  on  the  flat  stone  slab.  The  light  was 
gleaming  through  the  shrubbery  of  the  lit 
tle  cottage,  and  the  homey  sounds  of  eve 
ning  and  the  twitter  of  late-coming  birds 
were  in  the  air. 

"What  are  you  here  for,  Gresh?"  Bond 
asked,  hoarsely.  "  I  thought  you  had  left 
for  good." 

The  villainous-looking  outlaw  drew  a 
flask  from  his  pocket. 

"  Have  a  drink,  Saxon.    Take  the  whole 


274  ^  Master's  Degree 

bottle,"  and  he  thrust  it  into  the  old  man's 
hands. 

Bond  wavered  a  moment,  then  flung  it 
far  into  the  foamy  floods  of  the  Walnut. 

"Not  any  more.  You  shall  not  get  me 
drunk  again  while  you  rob  and  kill." 

"  You  did  the  killing  for  me  once.  Won't 
you  do  it  again?"  Gresh  snarled. 

Bond  clinched  his  fists  but  did  not  strike. 

"What  are  you  after  now?"  he  asked. 
"You  are  through  with  the  Burleighs;  Vic 
settled  you  and  you  know  it." 

Even  with  the  words  the  clutch  of  Vic's 
fingers  on  the  outlaw's  throat  seemed  to 
choke  him  now. 

"If  my  last  Burleigh  is  gone,"  he 
growled  with  an  oath,  "  I  'm  not  done  yet. 
There 's  Elinor  Wream.  Don't  forget  that 
her  mother  was  my  adopted  sister.  Don't 
forget  that  my  old  foster  father  cut  me  off 
without  a  cent  and  gave  her  all  his  money. 
That's  why  Nathan  Wream  married  her. 
He  wanted  her  money  for  colleges."  The 
sneer  on  the  man's  face  was  diabolical.  "  I 
can  hit  the  old  man  through  Elinor,  and  I  '11 
do  it  some  time,  and  that's  not  the  only  blow 
that  I  can  strike  here,  and  I  am  going  to 
finish  this  thing  now."  He  pointed  toward 


The  Derelicts  275 

the  cottage  where  the  unprotected  woman 
sat  alone.  "  Twice  I  Ve  nerved  myself  to 
do  it  and  been  fooled  each  time.  One  Oc 
tober  day  you  were  here  drunk.  I  could 
have  laid  it  on  you  easy,  and  maybe  fixed 
Fenneben  too,  if  a  little  child's  voice  hadn't 
scared  me  stiff.  And  the  day  of  the  big 
football  game  you  wouldn't  get  drunk  and 
she  must  go  down  to  that  game  just  to  look 
once  at  Lloyd  Fenneben.  I  meant  to  fin 
ish  her  that  day.  This  is  the  third  and  last 
time  now.  There  is  not  even  a  dog  to  pro 
tect  her." 

Bond  Saxon  had  been  a  huge  fellow  in  his 
best  days,  and  now  he  summoned  all  the 
powers  nature  had  left  to  him. 

"Tom  Gresh,"  he  cried,  "in  my  infernal 
weakness  you  made  me  a  drunken  beast,  who 
took  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  you  wanted 
out  of  your  way.  You  thought,  you  fool, 
that  she  might  care  for  you  then.  I  Ve  car 
ried  the  curse  of  that  deed  on  my  soul  night 
and  day.  I  '11  wipe  it  partly  away  now  by 
saving  her  life  from  you.  So  surely  as  to 
night,  tomorrow,  or  ever  you  try  to  harm 
her,  I  '11  not  show  you  the  mercy  Vic  Bur- 
leigh  showed  you  once." 

Strange  forms  the  guardian  angel  takes! 


276  A  Master's  Degree 

Hence  we  entertain  it  unawares. 

Of  all  Lagonda  Ledge,  old  Bond  Saxon, 
standing  between  a  woman  and  the  peril  of 
her  life,  looked  least  angelic.  Gresh  under 
stood  him  and  turned  first  in  fawning  and 
tempting  trickery  to  his  adversary.  But 
Saxon  stood  his  ground.  Then  the  outlaw 
raged  in  fury,  not  daring  to  strike  now,  be 
cause  he  knew  Bond's  strength.  And  still 
the  old  man  was  unmoved.  A  life  saved  for 
the  life  he  had  taken  was  steeling  his  soul  to 
courage. 

At  last  in  the  dim  light,  Gresh  stood  mo 
tionless  a  minute,  then  he  struck  his  parting 
blow. 

"All  right,  Bond  Saxon,  play  protector 
all  you  want  to,  but  it's  a  short  game  for 
you.  The  sheriff  is  out  of  town  tonight,  but 
tomorrow  afternoon  he  will  get  back  to  La 
gonda  Ledge.  Tomorrow  afternoon  I  go 
with  all  my  proofs  —  Oh,  I  Ve  got  'em.  And 
you,  Bond  Saxon,  will  be  behind  the  bars 
for  your  crime,  done  not  so  many  years  ago, 
and  your  honorable  daughter,  disgraced 
forever  by  you,  can  shift  for  herself.  I  Ve 
nothing  to  lose ;  why  should  I  protect  you?  " 

He  leaped  down  the  bank  into  the  swiftly 
flowing  river,  and,  swimming  easily  to  the 


The  Derelicts  277 

farther  side,  he  disappeared  in  the  under 
brush. 

The  next  afternoon,  somebody  remem 
bered  that  Bond  Saxon  had  crossed  the 
bridge  and  plunged  into  the  overflow  of  the 
river  around  the  west  end.  But  Bond  had 
been  drunk  much  of  late  and  nobody  ap 
proached  him  when  he  was  drunk.  How 
could  Lagonda  Ledge  know  the  agony  of 
the  old  man's  soul  as  he  splashed  across  the 
Walnut  waters  and  floundered  up  the  nar 
row  glen  to  the  cave?  Or  how,  for  Dennie's 
sake,  he  had  begged  on  his  knees  for  mercy 
that  should  save  his  daughter's  name?  Or 
how  harder  than  the  stone  of  the  ledges,  that 
the  trickling  water  through  slow-dragging 
centuries  has  worn  away,  was  the  stony  heart 
of  the  creature  who  denied  him?  And  only 
Victor  Burleigh  had  power  to  picture  the 
struggle  that  must  have  followed  in  that 
cavern,  and  beyond  the  wall  into  the  blind 
black  passages  leading  at  last  to  the  bluff 
above  the  river,  where,  clinched  in  deadly 
combat,  the  two  men,  fighting  still,  fell 
headlong  into  the  Walnut  floods. 

Down  at  the  shallows  Professor  Burgess 
and  Dennie  had  found  the  waters  too  deep 


278  A  Master's  Degree 

to  reach  the  Kickapoo  Corral,  so  they 
strolled  along  the  bluff  watching  the  river 
rippling  merrily  in  the  fall  of  the  afternoon 
sunshine.  And  brightly,  too,  the  sunshine 
fell  on  Dennie  Saxon's  rippling  hair,  recall 
ing  to  Vincent  Burgess'  memory  the  wood 
land  camp  fire  and  the  old  legend  told  in 
the  October  twilight  and  the  flickering 
flames  lighting  Dennie's  face  and  the  wavy 
folds  of  her  sunny  hair. 

But  even  as  he  remembered,  a  cry  up 
stream  came  faintly,  once  and  no  more, 
while,  grappling  still,  two  forms  were  borne 
down  by  the  swift  current  to  the  bend 
above  the  whirlpool.  Dennie  and  Vincent 
sprang  to  the  very  edge  of  the  bluff,  power 
less  to  save,  as  Tom  Gresh  and  Bond  Saxon 
were  swept  around  the  curve  below  the  Cor 
ral.  Across  the  shallows  they  struggled  for 
a  footing,  but  the  undertow  carried  them  on 
toward  the  fatal  pool. 

A  shriek  from  the  bank  came  to  Bond 
Saxon's  ears,  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  the 
two  reaching  out  vain  hands  to  him. 

"Your  oath,  Vincent;  your  oath!"  he 
cried  in  agonizing  tones. 

Then  Vincent  Burgess  put  one  arm  about 
Dennie  Saxon  and  drew  her  close  to  him 


The  Derelicts  279 

and  lifted  up  his  right  hand  high  above 
him  in  token  to  the  drowning  man  of  his 
promise,  under  heaven,  to  keep  that  oath 
forever. 

A  look  of  joy  swept  over  the  old  face  in 
the  water,  his  struggling  ceased,  and  once 
more  tribute  was  paid  to  the  grim  Chieftain 
of  Lagonda's  Pool. 


They  said  about  town  the  next  day  that  it 
was  the  peacefulest  face  ever  seen  below  a 
coffin  lid.  And,  remembering  only  his 
many  acts  of  neighborly  kindness,  they  for 
gave  and  forgot  his  weaknesses,  while  to  the 
few  who  knew  his  life-tragedy  came  the 
assuring  hope  that  the  forgiving  mercy  of 
man  is  but  a  type  of  the  boundless  mercy 
of  a  forgiving  God. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  MASTERY 

And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the 

Master  shall  blame, 
And  no   one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no   one 

shall  work  for  fame, 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  working,  and  each,  in  his 

separate  star, 
Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of 

Things  as  They  Are. 

—  KIPLING 

TUNE  time  in  the  Walnut  Valley,  and 
*^  commencement  time  at  Sunrise  on  the 
limestone  ridge!  Nor  pen  nor  brush  can 
show  the  glory  of  the  radiant  prairies,  and 
the  deep  blue  of  the  "unscarred  heavens," 
and  the  bright  gleams  from  rippling  waters. 
And  at  the  end  of  a  perfect  day  comes  the 
silvery  grandeur  of  a  moonlit  June  night. 

It  was  late  afternoon  of  the  day  before 
commencement.  Victor  Burleigh  stood  on 
the  stone  where  four  years  ago  the  bull 
snake  had  stretched  itself  in  the  lazy  sun 
shine.  Only  one  more  day  at  Sunrise  for 
him,  and  the  little  heartache,  unlike  any 

280 


The  Mastery  281 

other  sorrow  a  life  can  ever  know,  was  his, 
as  he  stood  there.  In  the  four  years'  battle 
he  had  come  off  conqueror  until  the  symbol 
above  the  doorway  no  longer  held  any  mys 
tery  for  him.  His  character  and  culture 
now  matched  his  voice.  Before  him  was 
higher  learning,  an  under-professorship  at 
Harvard,  and  later  on  the  pulpit  for  his 
life  work.  But  now  the  heartache  of  part 
ing  was  his,  and  a  deeper  pain  than  break 
ing  school  ties  was  his  also.  A  year  of 
jolly  goodfellowship  was  ending,  a  happy 
year,  with  Elinor  his  most  frequent  com 
panion.  And  often  in  this  year  he  had 
wondered  at  Lloyd  Fenneben's  harsh  judg 
ment  of  her.  Fondness  of  luxury  seemed 
foreign  to  her,  and  womanly  beauty  of  char 
acter  made  her  always  "Norrie  the  be 
loved."  But  Victor  was  true  to  Fenneben's 
demands  and  willing  to  try  to  live  through 
the  years  after,  if  one  year  of  happy  asso 
ciation  could  be  his  now.  Whatever  claims 
Burgess  might  assert  later,  he  could  not  take 
from  another  the  claim  to  happy  memories. 
But,  today,  there  was  the  dull  steady  heart 
ache  that  he  knew  had  come  to  stay. 

Presentlv  Elinor  joined  him. 

"  May  I  come  down  tonight  for  a  good- 


282  A  Master  s  Degree 

by  stroll,  Elinor?  There's  a  full  moon 
and  after  tomorrow  there  are  to  be  no  more 
moons,  nor  stars,  nor  suns,  nor  lands,  nor 
seas,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers  for  us  at 
Sunrise." 

"  I  wish  you  would  come,  Victor,"  Elinor 
said.  "  Come  early.  There 's  a  crowd  go 
ing  out  somewhere,  and  we  can  join  the 
ranks  of  the  great  ungraduated  for  the  last 
time." 

"  Elinor,  I  'm  not  hunting  a  crowd  to 
night,"  Vic  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Well,  come,  anyway,  and  we'll  hunt  the 
solitude,  if  we  can^t  hunt  any  other  game." 
And  they  strolled  homeward  together. 

In  the  early  evening  Lloyd  Fenneben  and 
Elinor  sat  on  the  veranda  watching  the  sun 
set  through  the  trees  beyond  the  river. 

"You  are  to  graduate  from  Sunrise  to 
morrow,"  Dr.  Fenneben  was  saying.  "  For 
a  Wream  that  is  the  real  beginning  of  life. 
I  have  your  business  matters  entrusted  to 
me,  ready  to  close  up  as  soon  as  you 
are  'legally  graduated'  according  to  my 
brother's  wishes,  but  you  may  as  well  know 
them  now." 

He  paused,  and  Elinor,  thinking  of  the 


The  Mastery  283 

moonlight,  maybe,  waited  in  peaceful 
silence. 

"  Norrie,  when  I  finished  at  the  univer 
sity  my  brother  put  a  small  fortune  into  my 
hands  and  bade  me  go  West  and  build  a  new 
Harvard.  You  know  our  family  hold  that 
that  is  the  only  legitimate  use  for  money." 

Norrie  smiled  assent. 

"  I  did  not  ask  whose  money  it  was,  for 
my  brother  handled  many  bequests,  and  I 
was  a  poor  business  man  then.  I  came  and 
invested  it  at  last  in  Sunrise-by-the-Walnut. 
That  was  your  mother's  money,  given  by 
your  father  to  Joshua,  who  gave  it  to  me. 
Joshua  did  not  tell  me,  and  I  supposed  some 
good,  old  Boston  philanthropist  had  bought 
an  indulgence  for  his  ignorant  soul  by  en 
dowing  this  thing  so  freely.  I  found  it  out 
on  Joshua's  deathbed,  and  only  to  pacify 
him  would  I  consent  to  keep  it  until  now. 
Henceforth,  it  must  be  yours.  That  is  why 
I  asked  you  a  year  ago  to  just  be  a  college 
girl  and  drop  all  thought  about  marrying. 
I  wanted  you  to  come  into  possession  of 
your  own  property  before  you  bound  your 
self  by  any  bonds  you  could  not  break." 

Elinor  sat  silent  for  a  while,  her  dark  eyes 
seeing  only  the  low  golden  sunset.  She  un- 


284  A  Master's  Degree 

derstood  now  what  had  grooved  that  line  of 
care  in  Lloyd  Fen^eben's  face  when  he  came 
home  from  the  East.  But  he  had  conquered, 
aye,  he  had  won  the  mastery. 

"And  you  and  Sunrise?"  she  asked  at 
length. 

"  I  can  sell  the  college  site  and  buildings 
to  this  new  manufactory  coming  here  in 
August.  Added  to  this,  I  have  acquired 
sufficient  funds  of  my  own  to  pay  you  the 
entire  amount  and  a  good  rate  of  interest 
with  it.  My  grief  is  that  for  all  these  years, 
I  have  kept  you  out  of  your  own." 

Elinor  rose  up,  white  and  cold,  and  put 
her  hand  on  her  uncle's  hand. 

"  Let  me  think  a  little,  Uncle  Lloyd.  It 
is  not  easy  to  realize  one's  fortune  in  a  min 
ute."  Then  she  left  him. 

"  It  makes  little  difference  what  passion 
possesses  a  man's  soul,  if  it  possesses  him  he 
will  wrong  his  fellowmen,"  Fenneben  said 
to  himself.  "  In  Joshua  Wream's  craving 
to  endow  college  claims  he  robbed  this  girl 
of  her  inheritance  and  sent  her  to  me,  telling 
me  she  was  shallow-minded  and  wholly 
given  to  a  love  of  luxuries,  that  I  might  not 
see  his  plans;  while  Norrie,  never  knowing, 
has  proved  over  and  over  how  false  these 


The  Mastery  285 

charges  were.  And  at  last,  to  still  his  noisy 
conscience,  he  would  marry  her,  willing  or 
unwilling,  to  Vincent  Burgess.  But  with  all 
this,  his  last  hours  were  full  of  sorrowful 
confession.  What  do  these  Masters'  De 
grees  my  brother  bore  avail  a  man  if  he  have 
not  the  mastery  within?  Meanwhile,  my 
labors  here  must  end." 

Lonely  and  crushed,  with  his  life  work 
taken  from  him,  he  sat  and  faced  the  sunset. 
Presently,  he  saw  Elinor  and  Victor  Bur- 
leigh  strolling  away  in  the  soft  evening 
light.  At  the  corner,  Elinor  turned  and 
waved  a  good-by  to  him.  Then  the  mem 
ory  of  his  own  commencement  day  came 
back  to  him,  and  of  the  happy  night  before. 
Oh,  that  night  before!  Can  a  man  ever  for 
get!  And  now,  tonight! 

"Don  Fonnybone,"  Bug  Buler  piped,  as 
he  came  trudging  around  the  corner.  "  I 
want  to  confessing." 

He  came  to  Fenneben's  side  and  looked 
up  confidently  in  his  face. 

"Well,  confessing.  I  Ve  just  finished  do 
ing  that  myself,"  Fenneben  said. 

"  I  did  a  bad,  long  ago.  I  want  to  go  and 
confessing.  Will  you  go  with  me?" 

"  Where  shall  we  go  to  be  shriven,  Bug?  " 


286  A  Master  s  Degree 

"To  Pigeon  Place,"  Bug  responded. 
"The  Pigeon  woman  is  there  now.  I  saw 
her  coming,  and  I  must  go  right  away  and 
confessing." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,  Bug.  I  want  to  see 
that  woman,  anyhow,"  Fenneben  said. 

And  the  two  went  away  in  the  early  twi 
light  of  this  rare  June  evening. 

Out  at  Pigeon  Place,  when  Dr.  Fenneben 
and  little  Bug  walked  up  the  grassy 
way  to  the  vine-covered  porch  in  the  misty 
twilight,  Mrs.  Marian  sat  in  the  shadow, 
unaware  of  their  coming  until  they  stood 
before  her. 

Lloyd  Fenneben  lifted  his  hat,  and  little 
Bug  imitated  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Marian.  This 
little  boy  wanted  to  tell  you  of  something 
that  was  troubling  him.  I  think  he  tres 
passed  on  your  property  unknowingly." 

The  gray-haired  woman  stood  motionless 
in  the  shadow  still.  Her  fair  face  less  hag 
gard  than  of  yore,  as  if  some  dread  had  left 
it,  and  only  loneliness  remained. 

"  I  was  here,  and  you  was  away,  and  I 
peeked  in  the  window.  It  was  rude  and  I 
never  did  see  you  to  tell  you,  and  I  'm  sorry 
and  I  won't  for  —  never  do  it  again.  Den- 


The  Mastery  287 

nie  told  me  to  come  tonight,  and  bring  Don 
Fonnybone."  Bug  had  his  part  well  in 
hand. 

Even  as  she  smiled  at  him,  Dr.  Fenneben 
noticed  how  her  hand  on  the  lattice  shook. 

"And  I  want  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Marian, 
for  your  bravery  and  goodness  on  the 
night  I  was  assaulted  here."  Fenneben  was 
a  gentleman  to  the  core  and  his  courtesy 
was  charming.  "  I  meant  to  find  you  long 
ago,  but  my  brother's  death,  with  my  own 
long  illness,  and  your  absence,  and  my  many 
duties — "  He  paused  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  Lloyd,  Lloyd,  on  an  evening  like 
this,  why  do  you  come  here?" 

The  woman  stood  in  the  light  now,  a 
tragic  figure  of  sorrow.  And  she  was  not 
yet  forty. 

Dr.  Fenneben  caught  his  breath  and  the 
light  seemed  to  go  out  before  him. 

"Marian,  oh,  Marian!  After  all  these 
years,  do  I  find  you  here?  They  said  you 
were  dead."  He  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  held  her  close  to  his  breast. 

"Lots  of  folks  spoons  round  the  Saxon 
House,  so  I  went  away  and  lef  "em,"  Bug 
explained  to  Vic  once  afterward. 


288  A  Master's  Degree 

And  that  accounted  for  little  Bug  sitting 
lonely  on  the  flat  stone  by  the  bend  in  the 
river  where  Dennie  and  Burgess  found  him 
later. 

"  So  you  have  stood  between  me  and 
that  assassin  all  these  years,  even  when  the 
lies  against  me  made  you  doubt  my  love. 
Oh,  Marian,  the  strength  of  a  woman's 
heart!"  Fenneben  declared,  as,  side  by  side, 
black  hair  and  the  gray  near  together,  these 
long-separated  lovers  rebuilt  their  world. 

"And  this  little  child  brought  you  here  at 
last.  'A  little  child  shall  lead  them,' "  the 
woman  murmured. 

"  Yes,  Bug  is  a  gift  of  God."  Lloyd  Fen 
neben  was  bending  over  her.  "  He  is  Victor 
Burleigh's  nephew,  who  found  him  in  a 
deserted  place — " 

A  shriek  cut  the  evening  air  and  she  who 
had  been  known  as  Mrs.  Marian  lay  in  a 
faint  at  Fenneben's  feet. 

"Tell  me,  Marian,  what  this  means." 

Lloyd  Fenneben  had  restored  her  to  con 
sciousness  and  she  was  resting,  white  and 
trembling,  in  his  arms. 

"My  little  Bug,  my  baby,  Burgess!"  she 
sobbed.  "  Bond  Saxon,  in  a  drunken  fit, 
killed  his  father.  Then  Tom  Gresh  carried 


The  Mastery  289 

him  away  to  save  him  from  Bond,  too,  so 
Tom  declared,  but  I  did  not  believe  him. 
Bond  never  harmed  a  little  child.  Tom 
said  he  meant  no  harm  and  that  Bug  was 
stolen  from  where  he  had  left  him.  It 
was  then  that  my  hair  turned  white.  Tom 
tried  once,  a  year  ago  in  December,  to  make 
me  believe  he  could  bring  Bug  back  to  me 
if  I  would  care  for  him  —  for  that  wicked 
murderer!  Oh,  Lloyd  1" 

She  nestled  close  in  Dr.  Fenneben's  pro 
tecting  arms,  and  shivered  at  the  thought. 

"And  you  named  him  Burgess  for  your 
own  name.  Does  Vincent  know?"  Fenne- 
ben  questioned,  tenderly  smoothing  the 
white  hair  as  Norrie  had  so  often  smoothed 
his  own. 

"  Is  this  Vincent  my  own  brother?  Will 
he  really  own  me  as  his  sister?  I've 
tried  to  meet  him  many  times.  I  left  his 
picture  on  my  table  that  he  might  see  it  if  he 
should  ever  come.  My  father  separated  us 
years  ago.  After  we  came  West  he  sent  me 
just  one  letter  in  which  he  said  Vincent 
would  never  speak  to  me  nor  claim  me  as 
his  sister  again.  A  brother  —  a  lover- 
and  my  baby  boy!" 

And  the  lonely  woman,  overcome  with 


290  A  Master  s  Degree 

joy,  sat  white  and  still  beneath  the  white 
moonbeams. 

Joy  does  not  kill  any  more  than  sorrow. 
Vincent  Burgess  and  Dennie  Saxon,  who 
came  just  at  the  right  time,  told  how  they 
had  waited  with  Bug  at  the  slab  of  stone 
by  the  bend  in  the  river  until  they  should 
be  needed. 

"  It  was  Dennie  who  planned  it  all,"  Vin 
cent  said,  "  and  did  not  even  let  me  know. 
Bug  told  her  my  picture  was  on  the  table 
in  there.  But  so  long  as  her  father  lived, 
she  kept  her  counsel." 

"  I  tried  four  years  ago  to  get  Dr.  Fenne- 
ben  to  come  out  here,"  Dennie  said.  And 
the  Dean  remembered  the  autumn  holiday 
and  Dennie's  solicitude  for  an  unknown 
woman. 

But  the  joy  of  this  night,  crowning  all 
other  joys  in  the  Walnut  Valley,  was  in  that 
sacred  moment  when  Bug  Buler  walked 
slowly  up  to  Marian  Burleigh,  sister  to  Vin 
cent  Burgess,  lost  love  of  Lloyd  Fenneben's 
youth  —  slowly,  and  with  big  brown  eyes 
glowing  with  a  strange  new  love  light,  and, 
putting  up  both  his  chubby  hands  to  her 
cheeks,  he  murmured  softly: 


The  Mastery  291 

"  Is  you  my  own  mother?  Then,  I  '11  love 
you  fornever." 

Meantime,  on  this  last  moonlit  June 
night,  Elinor  and  Vic  were  strolling  down 
the  new  south  cement  walk,  a  favorite  place 
for  the  young  people  now. 

At  the  farther  end,  Vic  said: 

"Norrie,  let's  go  down  across  the  shal 
lows  to  the  west  bluff  again.  Can  you  climb 
it,  or  shall  we  join  the  crowd  down  in  the 
Kickapoo  Corral?" 

"  I  can  climb  where  you  can,  Victor," 
Elinor  declared. 

"  Dennie  will  never  want  to  come  here 
again.  Poor  Dennie!" 

Vic  was  helping  Elinor  across  the  shal 
lows  as  he  spoke.  Up  in  the  Corral  a  happy 
crowd  of  young  people  were  finishing  their 
last  "picnic  spread"  for  the  year.  Below 
the  shallows  the  whirlpool  was  glistening  all 
treacherously  smooth  and  level  under  the 
moonbeams. 

__"Why  'poor  Dennie,'  Victor?  Her 
father  had  nothing.more  for  him,  here,  ex 
cept  disgrace.  The  tribute  paid  him  at  his 
funeral  would  have  been  forever  withheld, 
if  he  had  lived  a  day  longer,  and  he  died 


292  A  Master's  Degree 

sure  of  Dennie's  future."  Elinor  spoke 
gently. 

"Who  told  you  all  this,  Elinor?"  Victor 
asked. 

"  Professor  Burgess,  when  he  showed  me 
the  diamond  ring  Dennie  is  to  wear  tomor 


row." 


"  Dennie,  a  diamond !  I  'm  glad  for  Den 
nie.  Diamonds  are  fine  to  have,"  Vic  de 
clared. 

They  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  west 
bluff.  The  silvery  prairie  and  silver  river 
and  mist-wreathed  valley,  and  overhead,  the 
clear,  calm  sky,  where  the  moon  sailed  in 
magnificent  grandeur,  were  a  setting  to 
make  the  evening  a  perfect  one.  And  in 
this  setting  was  Elinor,  herself  the  jewel, 
beautiful,  winsome,  womanly. 

"  I  have  some  good  news."  She  turned  to 
the  young  man  beside  her.  "  You  know  the 
Wreams  have  made  a  life  business  of  en 
dowing  colleges.  Well,  I  am  a  Wream  by 
blood,  and  tomorrow,  oh,  Victor,  tomorrow, 
I,  too,  have  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime. 
I  'm  going  to  endow  Sunrise." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Oh,  it's  clear  enough,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  was  my  money  that  built  Sunrise.  It 


The  Mastery  293 

shall  stay  here,  and  Dr.  Lloyd  Fenneben, 
Dean  of  Sunrise,  and  acting-Dean  Vincent 
Burgess,  A.B.,  Professor  of  Greek,  and  Vic 
tor  Burleigh,  Valedictorian,  who  goes  East 
to  a  professorship  in  Harvard,  and  to  the 
ministry  of  the  gospel  later  on  —  all  you 
mighty  men  of  valor  will  know  how  little 
Norrie  Wream  cares  for  money,  except  as 
it  can  make  the  world  better  and  happier. 
I  haven't  lived  in  Lloyd  Fenneben's  home 
these  four  years  without  learning  something 
of  what  is  required  for  a  Master's  Degree." 

"  Norrie! "  All  the  music  of  a  soul  poured 
into  the  music  of  the  deep  voice. 

"  Victor!  There  is  no  sacrifice  in  it.  I 
wish  there  were,  that  I  might  wear  the  hon 
ors  you  wear  so  modestly." 

"I,  Elinor?" 

{i  I  know  the  whole  story.  Dennie  told 
me  when  you  had  that  awful  fight,  and 
Trenchie  told  me  long  ago,  that  you  thought 
I  must  have  money  to  make  me  happy. 
Why  I,  more  than  Dennie,  or  you,  who  gave 
Bug  his  claim?" 

Elinor  put  up  her  hands  to  Victor,  who 
took  them  both  in  his,  as  he  drew  her  to  him 
and  kissed  her  sweet  red  lips.  And  there  was 
a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  created  that 


294  A  Master's  Degree 

night  in  the  soft  silvery  moonlight  of  the 
Walnut  Valley. 

"  I  'd  rather  be  here  with  you  than  over 
the  river  with  anybody  else.  I  feel  safer 
here,"  she  murmured,  remembering  when 
they  had  striven  in  the  darkness  and  the 
storm  to  reach  this  very  height. 

But  Victor  Burleigh  could  not  speak. 
The  mastery  for  which  he  had  striven 
seemed  to  bring  meed  of  reward  too  great 
for  him  to  grasp  with  words. 


THE  PARTING 

.     .     .     There  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border, 

nor  Breed,  nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they 

come  from  the  ends  of  the  earth! 

—  KIPLING 

/COMMENCEMENT  day  at  Sunrise 
^^  was  just  one  golden  Kansas  June  day, 
when 

The  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it. 
Victor  Burleigh,  late  of  a  claim  out  be 
yond  the  Walnut,  Professor-to-be  in  Har 
vard  University,  and  Vincent  Burgess,  act 
ing-Dean  of  Sunrise,  only  a  degree  less  be 
loved  than  Dean  Fenneben  himself,  met  on 
the  morning  of  commencement  day  at  the 
campus  gate,  one  to  go  to  the  East,  the  other 
to  stay  in  the  West.  Side  by  side  they 
walked  up  the  long  avenue  to  the  foot  of 
the  slope,  together  they  climbed  the  broad 
flight  of  steps  leading  up  to  the  imposing 
doorway  of  Sunrise  with  the  big  letter  S 
carved  in  relief  above  it.  And  after  paus 
ing  a  moment  to  take  in  the  matchless  won 
der  of  the  landscape  over  which  old  Sunrise 

295 


296  A  Master's  Degree 


keeps  watch,  the  college  portal  swung  open 
and  the  two  entered  at  the  same  time.  In 
side  the  doorway,  under  the  halo  of  light 
from  the  stained  glass  dome  with  its  Kansas 
motto, 


wrought  in  dainty  coloring.  Elinor  Wream, 
niece  of  the  Dean  of  Sunrise,  and  Dennie 
Saxon,  old  Bond  Saxon's  daughter,  who  had 
earned  her  college  tuition,  stood  side  by  side, 
awaiting  them.  And  beyond  these,  on  the 
rotunda  stairs,  Dr.  Lloyd  Fenneben  was 
looking  down  at  the  four  with  keen  black 
eyes.  Beside  him  on  the  broad  stairway  was 
Marian  Burgess  Burleigh,  the  white-haired, 
young-faced  woman  of  Pigeon  Place,  and 
Bug  Buler  —  everybody's  child. 

The  barriers  were  down  at  last:  the  value 
of  common  life,  the  power  of  Strife  and 
Sacrifice  and  Service,  the  joy  of  Supremacy, 
the  conflict  of  rich  red  blood  with  the  thin 
ner  blue,  the  force  of  culture  against  mere 
physical  strength,  the  power  of  character 


The  Parting  297 

over  wealth  —  these  things  had  been 
wrought  out  under  the  gracious  influence  of 
Dr.  Lloyd  Fenneben  in  Sunrise-by-the- 
Walnut. 

"  Come  up,  come  up  ;  there  is  room  up 
here,"  the  Dean  called  to  the  group  in  the 
rotunda.  "There's  an  A.B.  for  all  who 
have  conquered  the  Course  of  Study,  and  a 
Master's  Degree  for  everyone  who  has  con 
quered  himself." 

The  common  level  so  impossible  on  a 
September  day  four  years  ago,  came  now 
to  two  strong  men  when  the  commencement 
exercises  were  ended,  and  Sunrise  became 
to  the  outgoing  class  only  a  hallowed  mem 
ory. 

The  hour  is  high  noon,  the  good-bys 
are  given,  and  from  the  crest  of  the 
limestone  ridge  the  ringing  chorus,  led  by 
good  old  Trench,  sounds  far  and  far  away 
along  the  Walnut  Valley: 

Rah  for  Funnybone! 
Rah  for  Funnybone  ! 
Rah  for  Funnybone! 
RAH!!! 


THE  END. 


A     000124001     9 


